


Hellebore

by Adora



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Sex, Christmas, Drama, Heavy Angst, Holidays, M/M, Natsuiku, Post-Canon, Romance, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-15 11:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17527985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adora/pseuds/Adora
Summary: “This is Hellebore, known to your kin as the 'Christmas rose'It is unlike all the rest flowers you have seen. Can you guess its secret? When the rest of the world lies frozen and asleep, Hellebore awakens.”A story of an unlawful bond wavering between reality and fairy tale.





	1. .1.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pretty_rekless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretty_rekless/gifts).



> First time writing (and apologies for the long delay) NatsuKuya as a gift for lovely pretty_rekless. I'm pretty sure you didn't have this in mind when submitting the prompt, I still hope you enjoy it!

__

 

Helleborus niger : the "Christmas rose" _  
_

an evergreen plant found in

the mountainous areas of Central Europe

* * *

**.1.**

 

_A large acorn tumbled down the trifling slope, bouncing off the tip of his tattered, button-up boot. Wagging a grey, bushy tail, the jouncy hoarder swiftly snatched the nutty treat, before disappearing up the higher, creaking boughs. Bare and ashen, they interlaced like lightning forks, once upon a time shaping a verdant roof that shed its dappled veil under the glory of midday. Now, the crumbling leaves formed a garish quilt of golden and brown that crunched under his weight, a signal of every living thing coming to an end. At its fringes, the woodland lay melancholically quiet. Sitting cross-legged at the base of a time-chiselled tree, the boy crouched above his Edwardian sketchbook, zealously committed to Hegel's third art. Smudged fingers deftly worked the charcoal, as the willow stick glided on the textured parchment. Thick lines interweaved with fading gradients, instilling the clear vision saturating his mind into what had earlier started as something abstract._

_Such was his unwavering dedication, that when the gusty wind agitated the autumnal carpet and a low, earthen growl, as ancient as the balding mountaintops, rose from the guts of the centenarian tree, the young boy didn't even flinch. It was when the old roots slithered beneath the moistened soil, making the ground churn and disrupting the course of his hand, that the boy cast a startled glance over his shoulder. For a flitting moment, the forest succumbed back to eerie silence, until the gnarled tree behind him began to vibrate. Dry flakes of its massive trunk started peeling off, exposing a sepia layer of timber underneath. But as if made of liquid instead of heartwood, the grains and rings on the surface slowly fused into one, forming a peculiarly familiar sight._

“ _A face?”_

_There was no mistake, the almond-shaped nooks resembling sockets and the curved line stretching into the ghost of a smile were all too clear on the wrinkled wood. The chilling face remained motionless, as if taking a minute to study the frail human, and then, it began swelling and bursting forth. Instinctively, the boy scooted over, watching transfixed as the being gradually emerged from the creased hollow. Its parts extended to limbs and, as soon as the wan daylight kissed its skin, its colour perked up to a much healthier tone. Like a tree that rattles its branches, the being wiggled vehemently, unfolding a fountain of sinuous, pecan hair and letting a gossamer gown roll down to its knees. In the end, that enigmatic pair of eyes finally lifted its hoods, revealing its last secret; the mirthful twin orbs of a nymph._

“ _You should stop showing up like this.”_

_The dryad giggled at the attempt of the mortal to mask his awe with a frown._

“ _I can't help it, every time your reaction is so funny. What are you trying to stash there?” she impulsively dived in his personal space, pointing at the sketchbook sloppily tucked away under his dark woolen coat._

“ _No-nothing. You can't see it yet, it isn't finished.”_

“ _Oh, come on...” she pouted innocently “Just a tiny peek.”_

“ _No”_

“ _Admittedly, I did spy over your back earlier, besides...” brown locks twirled around her delicate fingers, as her rosy lips settled to a seal and unspoken words invaded the boy's consciousness “...I can always find my answer here.”_

“ _Stop that!” His hand reached his right temple, as if a mere gesture could fend off the nature's whims. “You promised you wouldn't read my mind again.”_

“ _I'm sorry...I'm sorry...” This time, she smiled in honesty. “You're right, I just like messing with you.” In a display of remorse, she raked her fingers through his front bangs, gently tousling the honey-brewed hair. “Did you do something to your hair?”_

“ _Hmm, no..?” He met her knitted brow with a quizzical look of his own. “It has grown longer the past month, that's all.”_

“ _You look diffferent.”_

“ _Well, everything around us is slowly changing. Who stays the same, right?”_

“ _I do.” Her breath billowed into a sigh, as the tree nymph lay down, resting her head on his cozy lap. “You should come visit me more often.”_

“ _I come almost every day. But you're usually wandering off somewhere.” He was revelling in the warmth her body radiated, enjoying her feathery weight on his thigh. It rendered his voice soft._

“ _True. And yet I never leave the forest. My ventures are always around...here.” Her cheeks dimpled, a bittersweet smile tip-toeing on the curl of her lips. “I really missed you.”_

“ _Missed me?” He wondered with naivety. “You saw me yesterday. Waiting one day can't be that long, surely.”_

_The dryad let her unfocused gaze drift past him, upwards among the patches of grey sewn on the infinent sky vault._

“ _One day is too long when you don't sleep.”_

_That shade of gloom did not last but a second. The next moment, she was beaming back at the boy, as if the stars had somehow toppled down from above and built a nest in the recesses of her heart. It wasn't easy cradling such radiance, the boy fidgeted and she sensed it. She quirked an eyebrow at him with slight mischief._

“ _What is it? Tell me.”_

“ _The-there's something I have for you.”_

_At once, the nymph darted up. With the eagerness of an impressionable child, she watched as the boy hesitantly brought his sketchbook out. Leafing through the monochromatic sceneries, he paused at a page already ripped out and handed it to her, avoiding immediate eye contact. On the paper, a landscape in bold deep blacks and smoothly feathered greys was coming alive; perched on the outskirts of a vast woodland, there was a thatched-roof cottage with a lantern post and thin plumes of smoke curling from its chimney. The dryad blinked in amazement._

“ _For me? A house?”_

“ _A home.”_

“ _Yours? It looks nearly identical. Are you suggesting we should share your home?” she cheekily teased._

“ _It's-it's not like that. I just used it as an inspiration. But, I've told you before, you're welcome to visit whenever you want.”_

“ _I never had a home. It has always been the nature, this land, the forest...”_

“ _Well, now you do!” he exclaimed stubbornly and, instantly, hushed in a blush, when the nymph held the picture tightly_

_onto her chest._

“ _I love it.” The whispered confession deepened even more the scarlet on his cheeks. “I have a gift for you too.”_

_The boy didn't expect the scene that unfurled next. Lifting her welcoming gaze towards the wooden canopy, the dryad began clicking her tongue. A train of rhythmic sounds permeated their corner of the forest, perfectly aligning with the settled tranquility. Soon, she went faster, making her cheeks puff out to amplify the noise. And to the boy's astonishment, the nymph's natural calling didn't remain unanswered. Suddenly, a familiar visitor popped up from its mossy den. The grey squirrel clambered down the tree, hopping over the dead leaves and broken twigs, before fearlessly easing itself on the dryad's bare shoulder. Tilting her head, she let a rustling murmur pet its miniscule ears, as if casually chatting to an old friend. Loyal to her bidding, the frisky critter vanished momentarily in a nearby burrow, before re-emerging with another acorn, even bigger than the one it was previously hauling. As soon as it was entrusted to her palm, the oaknut started changing. It quivered and bloated, cracks traversing its shell until it shed. Amidst the tiny flakes, a translucent bubble was now lying, its thin membrane gently wobbling against the drafts of cold air. Inside it, a new miracle was waiting to manifest; a pure white bud timidly peeped out of a leathery, sacramento foliage, emitting an umbrella of peerless glow._

“ _This is Hellebore, known to your kin as the 'Christmas rose'”_

“ _...Christmas... rose?”_

“ _It is unlike all the rest flowers you have seen. Can you guess its secret?” Her fingertip lightly tapped his flushed nose and he innocently shook his head in return. “When the rest of the world lies frozen and asleep, Hellebore awakens.”_

_The boy sharply inhaled his wonderment._

“ _It blooms around Christmas and remains a beacon of light through the winter.”_

_The wind grew bolder. The sudden current pummeled into the soil and whisked the amber leaves into a small vortex around them. The dryad blithely stuck out the velvet tip of her tongue, tasting the brisk air._

“ _December is coming. Here, take Hellebore with you.” She placed the treasure in his trembling hands, wavy strands of walnut crowning the twinkling summer wine in her eyes. “Plant it in your garden. And when the days turn bleaker, it will flourish and become your token of hope. This is a gift to remember me...take it...take it home.”_

. _..home..._

“Ikuya!”

Home.

“Hey, Ikuya.”

The ballpoint pen hits the desk with a low thud, yanking him out of his reverie. He blinks out his confusion, blurred eyes settling on the judging face that mutters his name.

“...download the files at _home_. And I'll see you all next week.”

The associate professor's strict voice resonates in his ears, reminding him that he's still seated in a packed amphitheatre and the class has just rung its end. Next to him, Hiyori is shaking his head.

“Were you daydreaming again?”

His reply is nothing but a dull mumble. He picks his pen back up and turns to his notebook, just to realise there are only two sentences hanging incomplete below the scribbled date. The rest of the page is strinkingly blank.

“Here, have mine.” The bespectacled swimmer offers his pad, while passing the strap of his khaki sachel over his head. “I kept notes from the entire lecture.”

“Thanks.”

Outside, the first day of December imbues Tokyo with blue-grey hues. Students swarm the wide stairs of Shimogami University, some hastening their pace to meet their mundane schedules, others carelessly loitering around. The howl of Boreas ruffles their hair and sweeps their scarves, as the north wind bares his fangs. Closing his eyes, Ikuya slightly protrudes his tongue, savoring the newborn cold. The same merciless cold that compels Hiyori to tighten his coat.

“I have a pile of laundry and an unfinished essay for tomorrow. Want to come to my place? We can order something to eat while you're copying the notes and -”

“I'm heading home.”

On Hiyori's face, the short-lived disappointment mutates to a smirk.

“But, luckily, I have plenty of free time later. So, I can walk you there.”

Ikuya shrugs, just like he does with pretty much anything straying from his comfort zone. By now, he is used to having two shadows. On their way to his appartment, he remains mostly silent. While his meddlesome friend blathers about underperforming teammates and formidable rivals, Ikuya limits himself to nodding for those he respects more than they know, and rolling his eyes for those he likes less than they deserve. It isn't until they actually reach his threshold and he notices the welcome rug displaced while the front door isn't double locked, that his mind abandons its aloof style and his body tenses up again.

“Hiyori, someone's in the house.”

They burst in flustered, reflexes reacting to adrenaline faster than planning to reason. The air wafts a blend of spice with something irreversibly burnt, alerting them of the intruder's whereabouts. Only the culprit exceeds their wildest expectations.

“Aniki?!”

In the middle of the confined kitchen, Natsuya has apparently been flinging himself into a new culinary sport. Clad in a sleeveless shirt that already bears the first wounds of his cooking endeavour, the chocolate haired man is stirring a sizzling wok with a strong arm. Open drawers, stains on the countertop and a boiling pot that has started to overflow complete the picture of a room on the verge of absolute mess.

“Iku-kun, Hiyori. Suprised yet?” Natsuya flashes his trademark grin at the two dumbfounded youths.

“Natsuya-senpai! Welco-”

“How did you get in?” Ikuya interrupts, his face suddenly clouding over with uneasiness.

“I made a stop at Iwatobi first.” Natsuya pulls a set of keys from the back pocket of his ripped biker jeans and triumphantly tosses it at the younger swimmer. “Fortunately, when it comes to mom, my persuasive skills haven't changed. Now...” he takes a step closer, showily opening his arms to finalize his little skit, “...won't you give your big bro a hug?”

“Nothing about you has changed.” Ikuya low-key grumbles at the joke, eliciting his brother's generous laughter. This time, the unrepentant vagabond folds his arms across his well-defined chest and observes them without concealing his honest admiration.

“It's nice to see you, boys. You both look to be in great form.”

He may address in plural, but his amber eyes weigh down on his twin reflections. There's an incospicuous line of electricity arching like a bridge between the two Kirishima siblings, and its voltage doesn't pass unnoticed by the vigilant backstroker. Hiyori clears his throat.

“It's good to have you here, senpai. We had...” olive eyes fleetingly skip to Ikuya, as if to confirm a theory in his mind “...no idea you were coming.”

“Well, you know me, I'm like a migratory bird, always coming back to the nest.” Turning his focus to the stove, Natsuya pours some vegetable oil inside the searing pan and manages to flip the mixture over, as it sputters and pops. “You two are staying for dinner, right? It's your single chance to try the special curry udon ala Natsu. Even though my first batch of chicken ended up so charred it set off the smoke ala-”

“Hiyori is leaving. He has an essay to finish.”

Before Ikuya's obstinacy, whatever answer was crystallizing on his friend's lips is automatically deferred. Hiyori's eyebrows almost vanish under his cinnamon fringe. This casual nonchalance, coming so naturally from the brooder on his right, doesn't annoy him. He secretly cherishes it. In another scenario, he probably falls for Ikuya's guiltless smile despite getting shunned. A scenario where the teal haired man hasn't been nervously twisting the hem of his hoodie between his fingers all along.

Hiyori steadies his glasses.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

The perfect chaperon always takes his leave before the legal guardian.

As soon as farewells are exchanged and the door shuts behind Hiyori, Ikuya's expression mellows. Two steps away, Natsuya is humming a merry tune, involuntarily flexing his muscles while chopping some spring onions. Ikuya's eyes ritually travel from the lightly corded biceps to the thin ripple of Natsuya's shirt between his broad shoulder blades. In striking contrast to his preferred moody shades, it is the same lemon muscle shirt his brother wore the last time they met. Titillating images of empty bottles and a balmy breath teasing his own raid his mind without an invitation. How can his lips feel so dry when saliva is pooling on his gums? Ikuya swallows.

“You could have called or left a message.” His voice escapes softer than intended.

“And miss your face when you stormed in ready to catch a burglar?” Natsuya winks at him. “Not in a million years.”

Ikuya leans his back against the laminate counter, his gaze mechanically following Natsuya's motions without really looking.

“You know, mom only gave you those keys so you'd meet her again to hand them back.”

“Yeah...” the word fades into a feeble sigh “...I got the idea. We have the same way of thinking, she and I.”

“Well, she's right. You -”

“ _You should come visit me more often.”_

“- should come visit us more often.”

“I'm here now, aren't I?” Natsuya evades with a chuckle.

“On Christmas too. Because, I...”

 “ _I really missed you.”_

 “...think having you around will do her good.” Ikuya resigns, inwardly cursing every fairy tale in existence.

 “It's the holidays. Someone must pay a visit to the old man too.”

 “The year has another three hundred and sixty-four days for that.” The youngster sulks under his breath.

 “A bit harsh now, aren't we Iku-kun? I tell you what, I have a little business to take care of, so I'll be sticking around Tokyo for a while. Christmas is still weeks away, who knows, perhaps I'll be the one stuffing the turkey this year.”

 Natsuya manoeuvres through the conversation, warding off the pessimism with a dash of his charming smile. He unpacks the udon noodles and adds them to the hot, bubbling water, skimming off the foam that trickles down the pot. “So, what have you been up to? I wasn't coaxing you earlier, you seem refreshed. Any good news I should know about?”

 The slate tiles on the floor suddenly look highly appealing to Ikuya's fixated gaze. The young swimmer ponders his reply, there's something he has been yearning to share with his brother for quite a while.

 “Actually, there is.” Even if his tone stays passionless, his eyes sparkle up. “I have been accepted as part of an aquatics program between Shimogami and the University of Kent. Starting in February and for the next semester, I will be an exchange student in England.”

 As if stuck underwater, for a moment everything around Natsuya becomes slow and warbled.

 “They offer great scholarships, covering equipment, physiotherapy, monitored fitness testing, travel, you name it. My tutors will keep in touch, I'll continue training there so I can be ready for the nationals here, in summer. Ranking high will open the road for a longer scholarship and, perhaps, the European... competitions...”

 Ikuya's voice trails off. The two pools of amber staring back at him aren't just etched with surprise. There's an emotion strong and equally void on their glaze, as if they have suddenly absorbed more light than they can master. Uncertainty creeps up and makes Ikuya want to retreat inside his head.

For Natsuya, words are scattered domino blocks.

“I...had no idea...”

“Aniki, that's because I haven't seen you since-”

“Ooow!” A loud groan tears through Natsuya like a shard of glass, the moment he rinses the hot pan in water and droplets splatter on his skin. “Every single time, damn it! I forget it needs to cool off first.”

Be it a case of unfortunate timing or the brunet's elusive trick, Ikuya has effectively choked down his unforeseen spark of courage along with the rest of his sentence.

“My little brother finally opens his wings.” Natsuya retorts after a pause. “It's an amazing opportunity, Ikuya. You always had the total package for it. I am really proud of you. Honestly.”

A hand squeezes his shoulder encouragingly and, once again, Ikuya is ten years old, even the crumbs of his brother's affection causing his young heart to burst. Noting how they should celebrate the great news with a feast, Natsuya serves the udon noodles in two ceramic bowls, alongside the chicken curry that is already steaming. He sprinkles the top with the chopped scallions and grants Ikuya the honour of the first try.

“Here you go, Japanese curry udon ala Natsu, from my revolutionary cuisine straight to your palate. Although, I may have...overdone it with the curry roux.”

It takes Ikuya a second to realise what a big understatement this admission is. The dish is so hyped in spices, that his eyes well up and threaten to bulge out. He gulps the chicken down with difficulty, its rubbery texture leaving a stinging taste in mouth.

“It's horrible” the young student coughs out amidst adorable snorts, which break fast into spontaneous laughter. Blossoming rumblings of the soul Natsuya hasn't been blessed with in a long time.

 

 


	2. .2.

 

* * *

 

 

**.2.**

 

_The woodland looked like an unfinished painting. Most of nature's tarpaulin was polar-white, as the winter coated everything with its icy blanket. They were walking quietly among branches hanging low from the weight of snow, while the frost patiently tickled their faces. The boy's boots charted a trail of clear footprints as they ploughed through the powdered ground. He kept stealing glances to his side, where his companion's bare feet sauntered the frozen land leaving no trace. Noticing the bewilderment in his gaze, the dryad stifled a giggle._

_“What?”_

_“You're taller than me now.”_

_He drew his hand over his head, tracking the imaginary mark of his height._

_“It's called growing up.” He cockily bestowed upon her a lopsided smile, which only stretched wider when she met it with a pout._

_“Not fair”, she grunted, but the next moment her eyes gleamed. “Hey, did you plant it?”_

_“No, not yet. I was busy. I work now. But I will! I definitely will.”_

_The nymph's focus drifted away from his earnest affirmations. Intricate patterns of silver floated weightlessly down, each swirling flake a masterpiece of glacial mesh._

_“Did you know that every snowflake starts out as a grain of dust?” She checked his reaction, the negative shake of his head boosting her zeal to continue. “A small speck of dust or pollen catches water vapor in the sky. It eventually shapes a crystal. And as it cascades to the ground and temperature changes, it builds up to a diamond. An ancient proverb says that a snowflake never falls in the wrong place. Imagine all these insignificant little wonders...yet destined to settle right here...right now.”_

_Enthralled, the boy captured such a wonder in his hand. The snowflake held its filigreed form for a few seconds and then, it melted._

_“Destined to melt when they touch the earth.”_

_“Yes. You can say they fall to their death.”_

_Eventually, their path widened to a spacious glade. In its middle, a lake nestled quietly, carpeted with thick ice that blurred under the wintry moonlight. It was ringed with coniferous trees, whose juniper shades still leapt out on the lower boughs and pyramid peaks made it look like a regal crown of the forest. With most of their residents hibernating, the surroundings spread silent. The sole ripple in the air was an occasional sound like a cracking whip, as the ice shifted in the frozen lagoon._

_“Let's go!”_

_“Wa-wait!”_

_She swiftly grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him on the frosty surface. However, her enthusiasm wasn't enough to keep him standing. Unable to mimic her graceful skating, he zigzagged clumsily for a few meters, until his heel slipped off and he found himself tripping over air. The dryad spiraled around him, watching his failed attempts to rise back to his feet._

_“Don't just flap your arms, it won't help.”_

_“Nothing will. I need ice blades, I can't just glide on my boots. It's too cold and slippery.”_

_The immortal maiden mulled over his human limits and slid to a halt in front of him._

_“Here, take my hands.”_

_She helped him stand up and maintain his balance, before instructing him to close his eyes. He obeyed, albeit hesitantly, until a splitting sound beneath his boots terrified him._

_“The ice! It's going to crack!_

_“Ssshhh, don't worry. Just trust me...and listen.”_

_“Listen what? I can't hear anything.”_

_“The music.”_

_First came the susurration of leaves, as if the tall pines engulfing them were swaying against the wind. He scoured around but the cold had stilled the land as far as his eyes could reach. And then, he heard it. A soothing melody scaling up from somewhere deep. Dulcet notes creating a wordless chant, accompanied by burbling streams and chirping birds, all noises that bore no right in the heart of winter. This mysterious music was coming from within. It was her. The dryad was humming inside his head._

_Below them, big cracks fractured the ice like a web. In a bizarre phenomenon, sago pondweeds emerged from the rifts, immensely tall and flexible, branching out dozens of thick, green limbs. They hugged their knees and feet like giant snakes, keeping them steady, and before the boy could fathom what was happening, he was already soaring along the nymph above the shattered lake. The currents up high swept his tweed flat cap off, unleashing his hazel mane, and he clung onto her with all his might. But she lulled him with a smile, gently guided his hand on her waist and intertwined their chilled fingers._

_“Dance with me.”_

_Her song was still infiltrating his mind. It drained him of all his fears, and, really, the motions of the enchanted pondweeds were rather delicate after all. They waltzed together, hovering close to the lake or sailing towards the ghostly moon, the marvel was perpetual. The view of the polar-white woodland was magnificent and the fact its daughter was unable to fly, having to rely on their extraordinary lifts just like him, thawed his lonely heart._

_When the music hushed and their feet grazed the ice again, whether minutes or ages had strolled by, he couldn't tell. The giant pondweeds had crystallized into a grotesque sculpture arching over them. With their hands and souls still tangled, they yielded into each other's gaze, until he breathed out heavily._

_“What's wrong?”_

_“It isn't easy being a human. I'd much rather stay like this.”_

_The verdant monument smashed into a thousand glittering fragments. They rained upon them, forging a lustrous dome of jade and silver. But as they were nearing the chalky ground, those argent splinters transformed to bowl-shaped, white flowers, adorned with tufts of golden-yellow stamens. Soon the lake was but a wellspring of Hellebore blossoms. One of them smoothly floated into the boy's open palm and the tree nymph curled back his fingers to shield its brilliance._

_“Whenever you feel lost, remember my gift. It will chase your worries away.”_

_For a moment stagnant in time, the boy stared at her, mesmerised by the wavy strands of walnut crowning the twinkling summer wine in her eyes. The snow began thickening._

_“I need to head back.”_

_Her gaze tailed after him as he picked up his tweed flat cap and dusted the icy shards off. And when he awarded her with a bright smile and started walking away, she kept on watching. Even when he became nothing but a black dot within the white onslaught. All around her, clumps of flakes continued fluttering windlessly down...one...two..._

. ..three...four...Behind the window pane of a coffee shop, Ikuya is counting the first snowflakes. Timid signs of an upcoming blizzard, they abolish their hexagon shapes as soon as they kiss the glass, leaving wet traces of seraphs.

“Did you know that every snowflake starts out as a grain of dust?” he unexpectedly utters. Across him, Hiyori looks up from their training schedule.

“Come again?”

“Water vapor freezes onto dust particles and they turn into ice crystals, growing as they fall into a myriad of different shapes. There's an old proverb, a snowflake never falls in the wrong place. These snowflakes now outside were destined to die here.”

Ikuya takes a sip from his peppermint hot chocolate, relishing the warmth of the cup that radiates through his fingers and overlooking his friend's incredulous expression.

“Have you been reading that kids' book of yours again?”

“It isn't for children. It's a collection of European folklore tales.”

“Yeah. With that fairy you like.”

“Not a fairy. A dryad.”

“Who thinks she's in love with that mortal guy-”

“She doesn't think!” The clear irritation in his voice draws the attention of the nearby tables. Hiyori rushes to promptly apologize, while Ikuya crouches back to his self. “She really does love him”, he mumbles. “She just waits for him to open his eyes.”

“Ikuya, what are you getting riled up for?”

“Nothing.” He dips himself inside the aroma of his mug.

Hiyori exhales and puts down his ipad, their densely written timetable locked on its screen.

“You seem to be attached to that book. Was it, perhaps, a present from someone?”

“No. I borrowed it from the school's library back in Iwatobi junior high.”

“And you never returned it.”

Ikuya shrugs. “No one ever asked for it. I just enjoy it a lot, that's all.”

The seconds pulsate away and Hiyori realises he isn't going to pry anything else out of his quirky, tight-lipped companion. He decides to change the topic.

“By the way, your pastel-top friend's party is closing in.”

“Kisumi isn't just a friend. He's a leech. A friend allows the others some personal space.”

“But, we're still going, right?”

Ikuya grunts. “Yeah, I guess. At least Makoto's presence will keep him busy.” As if he suddenly remembers something important, his amber eyes dart to Hiyori's wristwatch. Five ticks later, he is already zipping up his windproof Shimogami jacket and leaving on the table his share of the bill.

“I am going to jog home. See you at tomorrow's training.”

“Alright....wait, tomorrow's? What about tonight's?”

Hiyori's puzzlement is nothing but a whirring sound, sealed away along with the coziness of the bistro. The cold weather incinerates his lungs and the people in the streets of Tokyo resemble disorientated ants more than pedestrians. On the way to his apartment, he doesn't jog. He runs. Outside his own front door, he balks. His pants percolate in misty clouds before his nose. He hasn't been ready for this December. He isn't ready for what awaits him inside the flat either.

An outrageous Christmas tree made out of beer bottles is reigning inside his living room like a commercial joke. Rows of glass from every corner of the earth build a garish decoration five levels high. Golden ribbons strangle most of the spouts, the thin cord replacing some of them betrays the lack of stock. On the floor, a few more empty bottles lie scattered, unable to find a place on that gaudy masterpiece. Meanwhile, the aspiring craftsman is testing the garlands of colourful lights, whose iridescent glow bounces off his chef d'oeuvre.

“Aniki...are you drunk?”

“You underestimate me, Iku-kun”, Natsuya gloats. “If I'd been drunk, I would have filled this with condoms.”

A furious blush sears through Ikuya's cheeks and his childish glare ignites his brother's boisterous laughter. Natsuya beckons him to step closer and inspect the wondrous assortment of bottles.

“From your trips?”

“Yeah. These are not all, I keep my secret stash over at Nao's”, Natsuya boasts and points at a chunky, dark cinnamon bottle. “Check this out. Negra Modelo, or as Mexicans call it, the 'cream of beers'. Right next to it, Tecate, that baby has won gold medals. While in Tijuana, I saw its ads in every sports event. I have brought a lot from Europe too. You surely recognize this one.”

“Guinness.”

“Mhm”, Natsuya nods. “But what about the one above it? Read the label, 'Buried at Sea'. Quite a name the Irish gave it, huh? It's one fine chocolate milk stout. And then, there's my favourite blond ale, Westmalle's tripel. It kept me company for several nights in Brussels.”

Ikuya listens to Natsuya's reminiscing about his adventures with nostalgia and pride, every new journey another month away from home. He can't hold it against him, though, not when these travels make his older brother beam with the exuberance of a child. Even if the beer tree before them would fit better in an absurd exhibition of contemporary art, rather than his minimal sanctuary.

“Anyway, this place was somewhat depressive. So I thought of adding a festive note”, the endeavouring explorer concludes.

“A note, aniki, not a cacophony.”

Natsuya shoots him an amused glance.

“When did my kid brother turn so cheeky?”

“Maybe while you were busy drinking all these?”

The tall brunet chuckles, his tongue rolling over his pearly teeth while he weighs his options. Bronze eyes squint impishly and Ikuya can smell the gale before it breaks. He has seen that wicked look one too many times throughout his childhood, he can read what ensues. And yet, he falls for it every single time. In an instant, Natsuya pounces on him, pulling him down into a playful headlock. He knuckles Ikuya's head, more so disheveling his teal hair than applying actual force. As always, the young swimmer struggles to disengage himself, but his brother's biceps are unyielding and any swiveling results in getting throttled by the crook of Natsuya's arm. The story repeats itself.

Or, perhaps, this time it doesn't. Because Ikuya may be too consumed in floundering like a fish to notice, but the vibes that Natsuya senses are unmistakable. There's a change. In the way the youth's body resists the physical manipulation. In how the tiniest squeal hasn't fled past his lips. This isn't a fragile teenager in Natsuya's grasp. This is a sturdy young man who doesn't strive anymore to mature into his equal. Natsuya staggers backwards.

It's within this unheralded realisation that he feels it for the first time. It starts as a hand touching his midriff, all in purpose of shoving him away. Yet, it never does. Instead, it lingers there, relaxing in lieu of strengthening. Beneath the wispy fabric of his shirt, Natsuya's abdominal muscles stiffen. The sensation works on him like a switch, as if all along he has been a machine not fully powered up. He desperately wants to put the blame on fallacy, but it's palpable, those delicate fingers he once held to cross the street, are now ever so diffindently kneading him. Tension escalates through him in high tide, and he's aware that Ikuya's inner turmoil rivals his own, because his brother's rampant heart drums against his ribs.

Red alarms go off when Ikuya's hand shyly pursues a course upwards. Any remnants of laughter die out, Natsuya instantly loosens his grip and obliges the distance to fall between them. Startled by the barren feeling, Ikuya soaks up his brother's back. He isn't an idiot, he is able to guess the origin of their strife.

“Aniki...that night back in June-”

Like a sardonic deus ex machina, Ikuya's cellphone reverberates through the living room. The moment has come and passed.

“Yes?” the beluga boy spits out tersely. At the other end of the line, Asahi's carefree self is buzzing through. “What do you mean 'ah, it's you'? You're the one who called me, idiot, whom did you expect to answer my phone?...Huh? Yeah he's here...”

Ikuya unwillingly hands the mobile to a Natsuya that peers at him confused.

“Hello?...Shigino?...Oh right, Ikuya's ex classmate....No, I think we haven't...Next Saturday? Hmmm, yeah...I can probably bring him too...”

Even though mint strands of hair grate his vision, Ikuya intently watches his brother's making arrangements on the phone. If he could chew his nails off in anticipation, he would.

“That pink fox”, he gripes as soon as Natsuya hangs up, “he knew I wouldn't pass the phone to you that easily, so he used Asahi as a decoy.”

“You boys act so dramatic over a mere party”, the adult in Natsuya shakes his head. “Oh right, if it wasn't obvious, apparently Nao and I are also invited.”

Ikuya averts his gaze, stammering his agreement and, surprisingly, this dainty reluctance is the most adorable reaction by the drifter's standards. Peeling his ivories, he tips up the young swimmer's chin and scrutinizes his bewitching features.

“Cheer up, baby bro. It will be a fun gathering. I promise I won't embarrass either of us.” His wink embeds the calm back into Ikuya's soul. “Ok, I'd better be off. I have a week to persuade the silver owl that rocking our butts around the youngsterns on a Saturday night is somehow more entertaining than his pile of books.”

Under the door frame, Natsuya pauses. He tilts his head to the right, the outline of his face barely visible.

“Ikuya...that night, I was drunk. There's nothing more into it.”

Words fall like stones. And they lodge there, sharp and unmovable, along with the brunet's wafting scent and a surrealistic tree of glass. Ikuya doesn't bet on it, but he may have caught a glimpse of a small hunch burdening his brother's shoulders. However, what the loner is certain about, is how the wings of his dreams have just been pruned.

 

 

 


	3. .3.

* * *

 

 

**.3.**

 

One bleak morning, Saturday signals its humdrum entrance. Outside, the world is beating in the tonality of carols. Inside, nothing augurs the advent of Christ in one week. In the kitchen, greasy plates are soaking in a pitiful sink. In the lounge, fairy lights glimmer night and day, one row already burnt out due to heedless overuse. Below his eiderdown duvet, Ikuya decides to skip his weekend training. Lately, snuggling under the covers, in a self-made den of cotton and feather, has been proven far more enticing than crawling back to feet and grappling with routine. Beyond the hermetically shut windows, the winter is clamoring. Yet, it isn't the cold that is nagging. It's the people. Moreover, the idea that tonight he has to brace a horde of them under the blaring vibrations of the latest pop hits, makes his head spin. Under different circumstances, he would have taken a rain check. But his brother's unpremeditated involvement has perplexed an already tangled yarn.

Before Ikuya's sight, memories elapse like celluloid stills. Every image and thought lead back to that sweltering night in June. He can still visualize the shards of broken glass, inhale the intoxicating alcohol and taste the salty sweat. He remembers his inward panic, that dread when the dream ceases being an unattainable chimera, yet remains a thirst. Natsuya has always been meandering in and out of his life. A good portion of their childhood, Ikuya spent it chasing his brother's shadow. Only for him, it shone the brightest. Natsuya was more than an older sibling setting examples and raising bars. He was the goal itself. Ikuya loved him like the nascent flowers of spring loved the sun. He would hop in Natsuya's puddled shoeprints, every time the restless tigershark was bestirring him for a promenade in the aftermath of rain, and dedicate to him the one school drawing after the other, quietly anticipating his rewards; a ruffling of his hair and a chocolate bar shared in two.

So when the time came for Natsuya to change schools and fellowships, Ikuya took the blow all the way to his callow heart. He wouldn't realise until much later that his brother had never actually neglected him; Natsuya was only growing up. But, at the time, Ikuya was but a guileless puppy, too sensitive to acknowledge the bigger picture. Bitterness and longing piled up in heaps, and the need to impress mutated from impulse to plan. He wished to be acknowledged by his older brother; as a swimmer, as a companion. But even more so, he wished to be cherished back. For years, he would stay a vexxed soul.

The first beacon of deliverance surfaced in junior high. Being a part of the relay team served as a catalyst in bridging the gap with Natsuya. New friends and goals coalesced. And yet, something stubbornly remained out of tune. It was the same culprit that used to strum a painful chord in his heart whenever Nao appeared at their threshold. The same reason behind the scorn that surged his chest during his brother's first attempts at dating. When his body started reacting to their proximity and Natsuya's image kept disrupting his unholy fantasies, Ikuya desisted from deluding himself. For a while, he felt utterly sordid. Those wet mornings were a torment as much as they were a blessing. Sometimes, Natsuya himself sent him mixed signs and this wasn't helping; it lead him to regress in a corner of his mind and overanalyze everything for hours. Eventually, he surrendered to this sentimental rapture unconditionally. What if everyone else wouldn't understand? He didn't want them to. In his microcosm, his emotions made sense.

The second opportunity rose more than a year ago. The pathway out of depression was paved with a refreshed college life, rekindled friendships and a successful All Japan Invitational. He had made amends with everyone and surmounted his old insecurities. And amidst all, he had finally swum with Natsuya again. He was still immersed in this unrequited love. A couple of times it had baited him to follow robust, brown haired college seniors into the toilets in between tedious lectures. But, at some point, he had confronted himself inside the mirror. And he had accepted him. Now he could appreciate the tiled picture, even if a piece of the puzzle was always destined to be missing. Natsuya's nomadic life would never stop being a rusty nail. Yet, every time the wayfarer set foot on a new land, Ikuya was attending too on the wings of his imagination. Every time his brother initiated a new fling, the young loner projected himself living another happy ending. Contrary to his reserved and occasionally brusque exterior, the cogwheels of a boundless world were relentlessly working within. That's how he kept Natsuya's thought close and his own lust intact. This secret was his own. He would capitulate to its sweet suffering.

Until the swansong of last June, his prudent strategy seemed to work; years of hankering were redeemed for a compromised happiness. Then, the tide shifted. It wasn't unlike Natsuya to wallow in liquor. Ever since their father left their porch carrying half their hearts in a suitcase on the prelude of the Tanabata festival, that time of the year always found them more sensitive. However, no amount of sensitivity over a bygone trauma could rationalize Natsuya's behaviour. The only logical explanation was the one that instilled hope in the mint haired youth. The turning point wasn't easy. But after the initial shock, Ikuya faced his demons head on. If he didn't give up his unrealistic feelings back when he was certain they weren't reciprocated, what could possibly make him change his mind now that he was showered in doubt? Since then, this thought has liberated him. Ikuya is not a hunter, but neither Natsuya is a prey. He can wait. Until this fervor becomes mutual, he can endure. That's what all his favourite heroes have in common in those whimsical stories; they persevere.

Ikuya's stomach snarls, almost as if it's digesting itself. These protests don't surprise the young swimmer; he has been rotting awake on his bed for hours. Natsuya's recent behaviour has effectively killed his mood. Since the brunet landed like a meteor back in Tokyo, Ikuya has struggled twice to clear the events of June and both times he's been shunned. When the undertone of pain quits being subtle and he instinctively clutches at his abdomen, Ikuya reluctantly shuffles to the kitchen. He rummages in the cabinets for some dry food, all the while subconsciously tracing the tiger shark print on his t-shirt. It's one of Natsuya's timeworn belongings, one of those he never bore the spunk to pilfer himself, until their mother naively let him have it. He now indulges himself by sleeping in it , even though the last time it was loose around his chest had been several years ago. Without dawdling further, he settles for a box of cereals, skipping the milk.

From the luxury of his bedroom he migrates to the comfort of his couch and it's already one tiresome transit. Doe eyes gravitate to the indigo hardcover book with the embossed layout and the obsolete gold engravings. He has no recollection of leaving it on the coffee table, but then again he has been compulsively revisiting its universe the last weeks, there's no wonder it always lies somewhere unveiled. It only takes a turn to a random page for the magic to effuse and the scenes to come alive.

_She waited beneath a leaden sky of lacerating gales, too daunted to take a step past the creaking lantern post. Beyond that, the thatched-roof cottage lay murky and silent, its yard a mayhem of snow piled in drifts. From afar, a raven summoned her by name and she turned around._

“ _It's you, you came.”_

_He was standing before her impressively tall, a green beret in lieu of his honey locks, a barrack bag hanging by his shoulder. A striking contrast to her childlike frame._

“ _You changed.”_

“ _You didn't.”_

_She kept twisting a nail inside her palm, ripping it off. Every time, it instantly grew back._

“ _Have you planted it yet?”_

“ _I'm here to bid you farewell. I'm leaving. It will be a while until I return. But I will.”_

“ _No, you won't.”_

_The winds howled, scattering twigs and raising twisters of snow. Eventually, he vanished in one of their squalls. The night marched on, the land was smothered in tar. Sinister cackles sore and new gusts jostled the snow aside. From beneath, pine needles forgotten under the frost since the daybreak of winter, rose and swirled, shaping up cyclones that kept increasing in size. Soon, monstrous formations stepped in the woodland, giant birds of prey molded with leaves and ice. The chilled air bore no gifts but whispers._

“ _Child, why Hellebore?”_

“ _Why did you give him a flower whose sap is toxic?”_

“ _You wished for the mortal's death.”_

“ _Alas, no.” She bit her bottom lip, her gaze fixated on the desolate cottage. “I just wanted to keep him here.”_

_The voices hissed._

“ _Here...here...you veer off, yet still remain here...always running in circles around him.”_

“ _Enter...enter the garden...”_

“ _I'm scared.” She confessed._

“ _So you give up?! So you abandon him?!”_

“ _No...No!” The dryad vehemently shook her head. “I have come a long...very long and bumpy way. I cannot leave him.”_

“ _Time is of the essence, child...enter...enter and plant the poison...see it bloom and spread, while you wait...”_

“ _Plant it...plant it...”_

_In the wake of a darkened dawn, a tree nymph was kneeling in a powdered yard. Her once wavy strands of walnut were a jungle of knotted hair, the once twinkling summer wine in her eyes was bleached. The whispers said she was manically digging through the snow. Deeper and deeper, until she found soil._

 

Ikuya's eyelids flicker open to an unlit room. The gun-metal grey unraveling on the sky has draped a natural curtain over the windows, impervious to the wan late afternoon light. Upon realising he has been slumbering for hours, he massages his temples. It's funny how in his opaque memory, the turbulent dream still resembles a short intermission. On the floor, a box of cereals lies toppled. Beside him, the fascinating book is open to an old gravure, depicting a knelt, disheveled figure in great distress.

“Brooding in my room and letting time slip off my hands...just what the hell am I thinking?”

Fortunately, his mind is a good listener and an even better advisor. He decides he will attend that party. Natsuya will be there, this alone should be enough of a motive. As for himself, he has come a long and bumpy way to renege now on his own resolutions. Time is of the essence and he is still clad in a stretched tiger shark shirt.

Fate chances upon him in the shower. He has just stripped down to his birth suit, preparing for a fast approaching evening, when the bathroom door swings open. For a split second, all rational thought is suspended. Face sets like stone, his mouth a grim line. Only his hands instinctively bulwark his crotch, as if he's a footballer waiting for the free kick.

At the door frame, Natsuya is a pillar of salt, both blessed and cursed. The sight of his stark naked brother is instantly inscribed on his brain, making it stutter. Since the last time he saw him swimming, Ikuya has been filling out, his perfectly symmetrical bone structure is now accentuated by bolder thighs and a statuesque abdomen. But what trully wraps the brunet in shackles is that innocent look on the youth's face, opposing so perfectly the tantalizing line of pubic hair that vanishes under his domed hands. Natsuya averts his eyes and, in the next second, he regrets it already. They are both men and family, if there's one thing he shouldn't be emitting right now, that's an anxiety he can't excuse.

“Phew, it's you” Ikuya exhales. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, the place was dark so I thought you were out...I popped in to have a little shave, I feel a bit rough on the edges...I'll just do it later.”

“Don't be silly, aniki. I'm about to have a shower, you can use the basin.”

Only when the shower curtain becomes a barrier, does the hitched breath in Natsuya's lungs break free. His knuckles pale out clutching the rim of the sink and rusty eyes in the mirror burrow back into him. Momentarily, the pipes behind him moan.

“I didn't expect you to get ready here”, Ikuya's voice sails over the gargling water.

“Nao isn't at home, he's doing some private tutoring. So, basically, I'm locked out homeless until he returns.”

Where the shower curtain meets the wall, there's a gap. A revealing cleft the beluga boy hasn't paid attention to. Guilt is building a knot in Natsuya's throat and he swallows in vain several times. The temptation is just too overpowering. Cautiously, he opens the medicine cabinet. The narrow, inner mirror is at the right angle to capture the perfect view.

“I was gonna come by either way, though. I can't find my scarf and Nao is adamant I didn't leave it there. Not that I thoroughly searched, but I tend to trust him, the guy is hawk-eyed. So I must have left it around here.”

“A scarf? I haven't seen anything.”

“You sure? Woolen, with black and yellow stripes...”

“Oh, right. Mom's present the last time you spent Christmas with us.”

Every peek through the mirror is one step down the ladder to abyss. The water cascades on Ikuya's body in warm rivulets, carrying bubbles to every secret nook and cranny. The gel enamels his skin in a pellucid glaze and Natsuya's gaze tip-toes on the trail the sponge leaves as it caresses the mounts and valleys of muscles. Foam flocks on Ikuya's groin, curly clumps of pubic hair sprouting from the off-white. No matter how deep in his memory Natsuya digs, he doesn't remember the thatch girdling his little brother's genitals being so dark and dense. It puts his own tokens of manliness to shame. Finally, the water ends in a stream traversing the youth's peeping manhood. His penis emerges peach and uncut, with even girth from head to shaft, the most beautiful little asset Natsuya has seen in a while. With every motion of Ikuya's hips, it jerks and sways lightly among his wet tufts, while they glisten in a peacock tint under the strong bathroom light. Ikuya aims the shower faucet at his crotch, the radiated coolness making his eyes set under their hoods. He brushes his hand over his member once to rid it of any soap left and Natsuya bites his own lip to suppress an involuntary groan, unable to resist fantasizing the wonder a few more strokes could do.

“Dad called yesterday.”

The mention of their father violently tosses Natsuya back to reality. Turning the tap on, he plunges cupped hands into the cold flow and splashes his blazing face.

“Yeah, I was out of signal all day. Probably why he didn't find me.”

“He was asking whether you'd visit for Christmas. You haven't told him you are here, have you?”

Natsuya's cheeks puff as he breathes out heavily.

“No, I haven't. I'm not sure yet where I'll be spending Christmas.”

Despite the lack of an eye contact, he can still sense Ikuya's hesitation. Joining them instead of their father for the holidays is something he hasn't done in years. No matter how much his brother craves it, he doesn't rush to believe in Natsuya's intentions. At least this is how the tall brunet justifies the awkward silence suddenly looming over them.

“What about you? Didn't the old man ask you to pass by instead?”

“Why would he ask a question whose answer he already knows? He doesn't like wasting his words.”

“He's a quiet man, you know.... _and you're also so alike._ ”

The last sentence never cruises outside the fortress of Natsuya's mind. And wisely so, since the young swimmer seems uneager to elaborate the conversation. Instead, he switches topics, without even caring to be subtle.

“So, about the party, is Nao-senpai coming after all?”

“Yeah. In exchange of my help in cleaning the entire apartment.” He knows his punishment sounds as ridiculous as well-deserved. Behind the shower curtain comes a muffled giggle.

“This is rather odd. He always gives the impression of someone very orderly.”

“That, he is. It's my own mess we need to do something about.” Natsuya laughs. “The other night I invited over some old pals I hadn't seen in a while, I'm pretty sure we ruined his carpet...uhm, male pals...” he grimaces at his own choice of words. His current predicament, isolated in a piping hot bathroom with his too delectable brother au naturel three steps behind, has made his nervousness skyrocket and urges him into the mistake of explaning himself.

As the minutes cartwheel, more hot steam pours out and the mist intensifies. Like a giant eraser, Natsuya's hand wipes the mirror, leaving brushstrokes on its hazy surface. His reflection is mercilessly judging him, sunken eyes chastise his depravity, yet the addiction is too potent; it drags his focus back to his spying glass like a magnet. Ikuya is facing the tiled wall, rinsing the shampoo off his knotted hair. The lather trickles all the way down his well-toned back, curving its route at his Venus dimples and briefly pooling in the beginning of his gluteal ridge. The top of his rear muscles contracts, the rest vanishes below the edge of the side mirror. However, whatever Natsuya's view deprives him of, his imagination easily restores. He can almost palpate that smooth bottom as it bends against his pelvis.

“Don't tell me you're using a razor instead of the shaver?”

Last time Natsuya swore so crudely, he had woken up in a motel with a piercing on his left nipple and a cab he didn't own parked outside. At least he now has the common sense to do it under his breath. The initial reason of his visit has completely dissolved and, obviously, anyone without ataxia in his head would notice the absence of the distinctive droning noise. In the years to come, Natsuya will never shave in the same lightning speed he does now. He even manages to dab his cheeks with cologne and shut the medicine cabinet, just as Ikuya fumbles for the towel.

The teal haired student tucks the fluffy fabric around his waist, not as low as someone less self-conscious would, and inches closer. He scrunches up his nose and frowns, while meticulously surveying his brother's face. Natsuya steels himself, the earlier imagery still slithering inside his consciousness. At first, Ikuya's fingertips are like feathers that dillydally on the seam of Natsuya's lips.

“You've left some here.”

With a sylphlike stroke, he sweeps a thread of cream. He glances up expectantly and, for a brief moment, their gazes cross, two identical candles of amber melting into one. Until Natsuya cancels the spell. Averting his eyes, he rivets them on the door past Ikuya.

“I think you should dress.”

The moment he steps out of the bathroom, Natsuya feels like the fugitive who has regained his freedom. He hurries to the kitchen, in pursuit of something extra cold to wash down his smoldering thirst. His thoughts are in disarray. He opens the fridge and takes several minutes to realise his hand is hovering above a beer can instead of the big juice carton next to it. Amidst the inebriating vapour, he almost lost track of himself. Back in that fateful night, he had at least the alcohol for alibi. Images effortlessly parade before him. Even though the order is completely scrambled up, he still hears the glass crunching under his sneakers. He still tastes Ikuya's fear on the tip of his tongue and feels the burden of those confused, dilated eyes on his slouching shoulders. His brother's echo has haunted him for months.

“Aniki, are you alright?”

Natsuya blinks. He's still resting his forearm on the fridge's wide open door.

“It's funny, people often say I'm the one to daydream.”

“ _Dream? I live a nightmare.”_

Natsuya scrubs away the intrusive voices and rearranges his face from a moonstruck man to that of a brother. At the lounge's entrance, Ikuya is fixing the cufflinks of his athletic fit dress shirt, his blue-green strands stylishly clipped back with hairclaps on one side.

“Well, look at you.” Natsuya grins, playing right in his field again. “Add a tie and a suit jacket, and you'll be a proper groom.”

Ikuya quirks an eyebrow at his denim pants.

“I'm wearing jeans. Who in his right mind would get married in-”

“What's wrong with jeans? They're functional and, with the right attire, they can be very classy.”

“...apart from you, obviously.”

“All I'm saying is you're going to dazzle girls and boys tonight.”

“Aniki, stop that.” He hides away the valentine-red on his face. “It's not like I'm interested in dazzling strangers.”

Like a _déjà vu_ , the ringing of his phone harmstrings the moment. This time though it's his messenger and, guessing the sender, Ikuya opts to open it on his laptop. Seeking to satisfy his curiosity, Natsuya tags after him into the lounge. He finds him already perched on the sofa, beaming at the colourful pictures strutting on the screen.

“A Shimogami alumnus just forwarded them. He enrolled as an exchange student in Kent last year, although in a different faculty. He promised he would show me a glimpse of the life there.”

The photos showcase a stunning campus that blends history with contemporary facilities, innovative technologies and well-groomed, beautifully landscaped paths. Among them, some feature picturesque corners of Canterbury, with its imposing medieval architecture and atmospheric pubs. It's the first time Natsuya witnesses his brother so happy with something that doesn't involve him at all.

“Have you ever visited this place in one of your travels?”

“No, I haven't.”

The irony. Its vice-like grip is already marking Natsuya's neck. He angles over Ikuya's shoulder for a better inspection, which is proven a reckless choice. The scent of wild fruits emanating from Ikuya's hair distracts him. He sheepishly leans into its heady aroma, inhaling images of ripen crops and jade forests. And he knows this illusion is vastly thanks to his brother's shampoo, but underneath it all he can detect the aura of something unique to Ikuya and painfully close to home.

A wisp of breath titillates Ikuya's nape and the boy spins around. Startled, Natsuya reels backwards and shoves his hands in pockets.

“Your locks are still wet. You'd better dry them off before heading out. It's freezing.”

“Right...no, wait”, Ikuya checks the wall clock, time always slipping by like grains of sand when Natsuya is near. “I'll just use the hood of my parka, otherwise I'm going to be late. I promised Hiyori I'll stop by before the party. He needs someone to take him to the right address, he has no idea where Kisumi lives. I'll see you there.”

In Ikuya's absence, Natsuya's lips curl up to a bittersweet doodle. He thinks it's funny how it's the first time he's the one to see his brother off, staying behind in a dim apartment devoid of mirth. Especially since he, as well, has no idea where Kisumi lives.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ikuya's hairstyle at the end is similar to Yoshino's, from Zetsuen no Tempest.


	4. .4.

* * *

 

**.4.**

 

 

There is a seemingly interminable chain of boozers going up and down the building's stairs, sustaining the flow of alcohol into the party. Ikuya has lost count of how many young students, carrying bottles in nylon bags or even small crates, he has spotted so far sneaking triumphantly in. The apartment is a duplex overseeing Ikebukuro and its fluorescent pandemonium. The level below is untenanted, which explains why no one has rung the bell yet to complain about the deafening electro pop pouring out of the speakers. Beyond that, every noise fades into the droning sound of the metropolis.

“Don't you think there's something off about this place?”

On the futon sofa, next to the teal-haired swimmer, Hiyori is gesturing at the décor. There's a notion of unconventionality around. The design is minimalist, most of the furniture rests in simple geometrical shapes and metallic tints. And then there are several discordant details, all raffish brushstrokes on a monochromatic canvas. From the absurd phallic figurines on the empty bookshelves and the huge, yet out of place, boombox on the floor, to the garish, fluffy chairs around the dining table and the psychedelic riot of a Christmas tree, only two explanations seem to fall in the field of reason; either the owner is one blatantly eccentric, two-pronged individual, or all these pieces are last minute additions to an apartment otherwise bare. This last hypothesis is partly true, the ceiling-scrapping tree with the tinsel ribbons and the rainbow flag on the peak has been Kisumi's personal magnus opus.

“And your friend mentioned it's his uncle's? Just what kind of a person is he?”

“Same as his nephew.”

They have been sitting there for a while, both unwilling to mingle with the horde of seesawing guests. Occasionally, they recognize a face or two among them.

“Over there, check that out.”

Ikuya follows Hiyori's nod towards a young, slender guy with a characteristic grey fringe. Lovestruck and tireless, Nitori has been tailing after the infamous sharkboy, pestering him to try a tray of delicacies.

“He's hopeless. Every swimmer in Tokyo knows Matsuoka is infatuated with Haru, except the redhead himself. They're on this cat and mouse game everytime he visits.” Unimpressed, Ikuya points five steps away from the former Samezuka members, where Makoto is helping Haru fix his collar. All the while, Rin can't take his eyes off them.

“Matsuoka Rin, huh? I remember him last year at the Invitational, his kickoff is strong. He's worth watching out, sooner or later he'll challenge you.”

“He's one of the many.” Ikuya states flatly, a sip of Beluga Noble spicing up his palate. “Let them do their thing, and I'll do mine.”

Behind crystal bifocals, Hiyori's orbs gleam.

“That's my Ikuya.”

A brushstroke of leopard flickers through rocking bodies. It briefly capsizes Ikuya's aloofness, halting the next sip of his drink. Sheathed in dark print pants and a black top, Natsuya is regaling a group of chortling girls with hackneyed tricks, rolling his favourite mexican coin over his knuckles. Upon arriving, he had checked up on Ikuya and then naturally merged with the crowd, like a bristle tipped leaf swept by the wind that's impossible to catch up.

“Natsuya-senpai really likes to impress others, doesn't he?”

“No, aniki isn't a show-off. That's how he actually keeps himself entertained.”

“I see, well you know better, he's your onii-chan.”

“I've told you to stop calling him that.”

“You've also told me not to call you cute, but some things can't be helped.”

Someone interferes with Ikuya's vision, casting a shadow over him and blocking Natsuya from his view. Instinctively, the teal-haired student cranes his head.

“Yo, eyes up here”, Asahi grins before plummeting next to him on the sofa.

“How come you show up after us?”

The brassy Aries puffs out his chest and stretches an arm on the back of the couch, wiggling red eyebrows at Ikuya.

“This naughty boy has been busy. I had a date. Can't leave the girl hanging, if you know what I mean.”

“So that's why you stammered nonsense on the phone. Why did she shoo you already then? It isn't even midnight.”

“Very funny, Ikuya.”

“I wasn't trying to be.”

“She didn't _shoo_ me”, Asahi mocks his friend's tone. “I'd just never hear the end of it, if I didn't come tonight. Even with Makoto here, that pink bum left me a dozen messages. Anyway, who the hell did you doll up for?”

Ikuya angles away from Asahi's curious face poking for a better look at his fancy hairpins.

“What's wrong with what I'm wearing? It's a party.”

“And you look like you came to receive an award.”

Always the watchdog, Hiyori's fraudulent smile pops up from Ikuya's side.

“Still, Ikuya's outfit choices are better than a pair of muddy trainers.” Sneering eyes descend to Asahi's shoes. Chunks of half-frozen sludge plaster the soles in an ice-freckled espresso.

“Damn! I shouldn't have walked through the park. I'm a dead man if Kisumi sees this.”

“Relax. This place is too cramped for you to be the only one. The entire Hidaka is squeezed in two floors. And there are people from a bunch of other universities, including ours. Sometimes I can barely hear you or Hiyori or anyone.”

A booming, prolonged laughter soars over the music beat and the whirring sound of chatter. Somewhere inside the penthouse, Mikoshiba Seijuurou is in high spirits.

“Apart from him...Seriously, why did Kisumi invite so many?”

“That's the deal with open parties. A friend brings a friend who brings a friend...” Hiyori trails off.

“You two don't get it. He actually pinned party posters all around the campuses!...Ah, speak of the devil.”

Kisumi sways through the herd like a slinking panther. He smiles and butterflies are almost seen incessantly ascending from the pit of his stomach. Yet he carries a binary aura, one that warns not to trust the cheap reindeer headband topping his rosy plumage or the star of golden dust on his high cheekbone. There's something about his weightless gait and the way his eyes scan the trivial surroundings without ever losing their focus ahead. If there's a cerebral optimum in a depthless society, perhaps it's him.

“There you are, A-sa-hi!” Each syllable is stressed to the rhythm of the background song. “What took you so long?”

“I was on a date.” Triumph curls on Asahi's lips.

“A date? Then what are you doing here? Were you dumped?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He crosses his arms on his chest and flares his nostrils almost comically, when Ikuya can't suppress a snicker by his side.

“Cheer up, love, I made sure there would be plenty of girls here.”

“Did you really pin posters everywhere?” Ikuya is almost scared to imagine it.

“Of course I did!” the bubblegum top gleefully exclaims, right before his eyebrows rise in innocence “Do you think I shouldn't have? Inviting people became so much more effortless. And, look, everyone seems to enjoy themselves. What about you two? Do you like my Queer-tree?”

“It definitely...uhm...” Hiyori glances sideways, his childhood friend nodding his agreement “...stands out.”

“We set it up this morning. Makoto helped. Only there was a problem with the elevator, it kept stopping at the fourth floor. Poor love.”

“Wait a minute.” From his semi-sprawled position, Asahi sits up. “Did you make Makoto carry every single box all those floors?”

“If you're asking whether I made sure to follow him up for a perfect view of his ass, yes I did.”

“One of these days you're going make me puke, I swear.”

It doesn't take long for Makoto to join the fellowship, spotted and beckoned by the pink wildcard. Handsome in his knitted, forest jumper and loose shirt underneath, he's a walking advertisement of college style – and extremely oblivious to it. Fiercely loyal, he has been chasing after Haru for the past hour, making sure the dolphin boy stays clear of the apartment's bathtub. Annoyed by the complete lack of mackerel-based treats, Haru has locked himself twice so far in the bathroom.

“Of course there would be no mackerel, it's _my_ party.”

“I'm just glad he hasn't discovered yet the second bathroom upstairs. He's catching up with Rin now, so I'm calm. We'll know something is wrong the moment Rin starts yelling. By the way, Ikuya, I didn't see your missed calls until much later.”

“Yeah, well, initially Hiyori and I thought the party was thrown at Kisumi's, and we headed there. All lights were off, so we called both of you and when no one answered, we called Asahi-”

“You _interrupted_ Asahi”, the cherry haired backstroker chimes in and gets rewarded with Ikuya's eyeroll.

“Or we did a lady a favour, it depends on how you see it”, Hiyori contentedly adds, and Asahi half-jokingly reminds him of his tremendous luck to have Ikuya sitting between them.

“Anyway”, Ikuya sighs ardourlessly, “Asahi told us the address Kisumi had given him, so here we are at his uncle's place.”

“Your uncle's place?” Makoto reverts to Kisumi naively. “I could have sworn you told me he lives in southern Tokyo.”

A sudden weight shakes Makoto, as the artful dodger pastes his body on his side and dangles by his shoulder. Silky eyes lashes, mottled with beads of light, flutter above an irresistible pout.

“Makoto, am I that boring to you that you don't pay attention when I'm talking? You'll make me sad, love.”

As the flushed giant falters to reply, Hiyori leans in Ikuya's ear. “What's his uncle's job again?”

“Estate agent.”

Realisation kicks in for both of them simultaneously, their crossing gazes wide enough to swallow the mismatched apartment in. Ikuya passes Hiyori his drink and it's the first time the bespectacled swimmer accepts the offer, gulping down one strong swig.

“Oh boy, this isn't going to end well.”

The music soon shifts into more disco tunes, effectively boosting the host's energy. Steadying his antlers, he begins lightly rocking his hips to entice his more uptight companions into following him.

“Any more sitting here and you'll be growing roots. Let's go swing these bodies, show me they're good for something other than swimming.”

“I'm fine where I am, thanks.”

“Oh, come on, Ikuya. You and Specs need to check the other floor out as well. Plus, there's so much food, even with all these people around. I didn't order everything, I've added my personal touch too so you have to try it.”

“I, at least, won't say no to this offer.” Asahi is the first to shoot up.

“And I can tempt you with some kit kat stuffed brownies I brought.” Makoto enriches the bribe. “My mother loaded me with several boxes for the entire Shigino family.”

“Isn't she the best candidate for a mother-in-law or what?”

“Kisumi...you're rushing ahead, Hayato and Ran are still too young.” Fern eyes crinckle at the corners, naivete too dominant over the hazel haired to let him decode Kisumi's drawn-out pause.

“You know, if I were to be an animated character, I'd have a permanent sweat drop on my head's back.” Kisumi pats the chest of a frowning in sweet confusion Makoto. “...yes, love, of course they are young. Anyway, less sitting, more moving everyone! Come with me. Except Asahi, who'll first get rid of these shoes before he imprints the whole house.”

Amidst mild protests and cheerful jokes, Ikuya is pulled up and steered through the drunken party-goers. His blanched lips may betray a residue of panic, but his feet are easing him after his friends. One could say there's something jovial in his stride. One tree, some furniture and several undergrads away, the eldest Kirishima sashays up to the laden dining table and his closest friend. He picks up the last jalapeño chicken wrap from a tray littered with nothing but crispy bacon remnants and dips it in ranch, before wolfing it down.

“Did you eat everything?”

Nao sports a smirk of delight like a permanent tattoo. “Indeed, I did. You know I love spicy foods and am still jealous of that trip to Mexico. So, are you done flirting around?”

“Nah, I'm just on a break.”

“Have you taken a break from drinking too?” The silver-haired alumnus motions towards the half-empty beer bottle in Natsuya's hand. “It's unlike you to still fiddle with your second beer.”

“You've been counting them.”

“Someone has to.”

Amber eyes prowl over the numberless bobbing heads congesting the lounge. “This place teems with young people and alcohol, Nao. It won't take long before some kid crawling in vomit needs help. I have to make sure I can give it to him.”

For Nao, there's a pitch of ineffable contentment in seeing his childhood friend spontaneously resuming his captain role. The deepened timbre of his voice, the steadfastness in his words, all awake scenes treasured and familiar. His lime eyes have been religiously accompanying the brunet, scouting grimaces and glances with every step. They all trace back to the same source carelessly laughing at the other side of the lounge. Standing by a steel workbench that has been upgraded to a bar, the younger Kirshima glows next to his more vivacious friends. Occasionally one of them teases him and , even then, the range of pouts and frowns he displays is simply adorable. Nao can sense the stiffening in his friend's posture.

“Ikuya seems to be having fun tonight. I rarely see him so much at ease when surrounded by many people. He didn't even stick to cider this time.”

Natsuya takes a Beluga Noble from the table. Under the party lights, the bottle's powdered blue tint intensifies and the sculpted, arctic cetacean on the label gets in motion. No wonder why his brother chose it. He takes a whiff from the spout, the subtle oak and honey notes thrilling his nostrils . This Russian vodka is definitely too strong for a rookie like Ikuya.

“He has changed, you know.”

Of course Natsuya knows. Arguably, he has for a while. This night just validates worries and theories long speculated. It's the cherry atop a cake way too high. He was there when Ikuya was getting ready for the party, he had seen him sparkling in his immaculate apparel. And yet, the moment the youth stepped into his radar, the air was instantly sucked out of Natsuya's lungs, leaving him imploring for breath. Even now, after all these hours, lights and people around constantly threaten to fuse into a blur, as soon as Ikuya's sight stalls his gaze. He has been observing him socializing tonight; the intrepid touches, the timid dancing steps, he caught them all. The curve on his brother's lips is deeper than any other time he can recall. In the heart of December, Ikuya's smile is a ray of sunshine, and Natsuya a man sunburnt.

“You should have got a hint last year, Natsuya, when he beat you in the individual medley.”

“I did...” he chuckles cheerlessly “I could see he was going to surpass me. It's just...it escalated so quickly.”

“What about his moving to Europe? It's a good opportunity for him.”

“And I'm glad. He deserves everything good in this world. I want him to chase his dream.”

“But last time he was chasing that dream, you were in the States, and he was tagging along.” Nao finishes the thought his friend has no guts to mouth. “Now he's about to embrace the world on his own.”

Across them, Asahi wedges Ikuya between Makoto and himself, adding another link to the conga train that cruises around. Natsuya's gaze hovers on his hands; one is still holding the Beluga Noble, the other clenches the beer of a common brand, whose bland taste he'll barely remember.

Midnight finds them shuffled and brimmed with ideas. Kisumi has managed to lure the cream of Hidaka's crop into one of the spacious bedrooms upstairs. Hiyori isn't particularly keen with the setting, but Ikuya bears no objections. The chaotic revelry roars away from them downstairs and there's a new glass of vodka in his hand; as far as he's concerned, the night has just become airborne.

“Huuuuh?” No room is large enough to contain a hollering Matsuoka. “Spin the bottle? What are we, thirteen?”

“Why not? A kissing race between Hidaka and Shimogami. It shall be fun.”

“Judging by your name, most definitely.”

“Where do you even see Shimogami in this room?” Ikuya blurts dully. “It's just Hiyori and I.”

“I wouldn't bet on that, love.”

The door slides and a smug Asahi prances in like a champion who has just won the joust. Behind him, a sextet of charming girls, all students of Shimogami, prattle and blush under leery glances. Ikuya just shakes his head.

“There you have it, Hidaka vs Shimogami vs the Australian import!” Kisumi grins before he's pulled by the reindeer antlers down to Rin's eye level.

“I told you, I'm not joining!”

“Alright then, less competition to Haru for the rest of us.”

“What? Who says Haru is playing?”

“I want to play.” The deadpan statement rises from the floor, where Haru has already taken his place in the imaginary circle around the bottle. Never before a face has been so determined and so clueless at the same time.

“You don't understand what you're agreeing on.”

“I want to spin the bottle.” He insists. “I am not going back downstairs. The music is too loud and people do weird things in the bathroom. Also, Makoto is playing too.”

The tall backstroker cowers under the redhead's glare, limiting himself to an awkward wave and a sweaty smile. Without many options left, Rin grumpily announces he's game and drops next to Haru, marking his territory like a hound. When Kisumi shifts his cogent eyes to Ikuya, the teal-haired youth bluntly dismisses the invitation before he even hears it, while Hiyori simply shrugs, faithfully following his friend's lead.

“You two are killjoys.”

“No complaint by me.” Asahi rubs his hands,“two obstacles less before my date.”

“Weren't you the one who said he already had a date?” Ikuya watches him pondering which seat to choose to maximize his chances for a kiss or two.

“Weren't you the one who said it failed? Ha!”

“Idiot, how does this even count as a comeback, it just confirms what I guessed earlier.”

The first round doesn't officially start until a raucous Mikoshiba decides to put his boys in order, and thirty minutes and several spins later, they're all a hodgepodge of sorts. Kisumi has planted feathery kisses on everyone but Makoto, making sure to linger long enough on the backstroker's succulent lips for the rest to begin whining. Seijuurou has got all the girls, much to Asahi's dismay, who keeps seeing the bottle skipping him an inch and pointing at the next person in line. Everytime someone dares to even consider pecking Haru, they have to deal with Rin glowering and barking by his side. As for the sharkboy himself, his bottle has stopped so many times before an elated Nitori, that he has snatched it looking for a secret mechanism twice so far, and even asked for it to be replaced once, accusing Kisumi of setting the whole game up.

Comfortably mounted on the bed, Ikuya has been watching their antics. He doesn't admit it to Hiyori, but he's enjoying the game more than he thought he would, even as a bystander. These boys, whom he has learnt to call friends, will never sympathize with his plight over these nefarious feelings. But they draw a smile on his face, this much he knows.

“Well, well...so that's what you've all been doing holed up here.”

In all its friskiness and smoothness, Natsuya's voice still sounds like a false note. There's an imperceptible strain in it that only mitigates when he realises his brother isn't participating in the lewd sport. Ecstatic, the rest students welcome the tall brunet and insist on granting him a place in their circle. In a grip of silent panic, Ikuya strives to react casually. He suddenly wants to jump into the game too, but the risk of exposing himself is disheartening. If any of these jesters jokes about his suspicious timing, he'll never be able to face his brother again. Across the bed, Natsuya just winks at him and spins. After rotating for what felt like an eternity, the bottle comes to a halt before a Shimogami freshman with freckled cheeks. The girl can't believe her own luck and Ikuya the irony; she is sitting right in front of him, in a parallel universe, that seat is his. Natsuya crawls up to her, graces her with a suave smirk and leans in. While his lips slowly undulate against hers, he fixates on Ikuya from the golden-brown corner of his eye. Subconsciously, Ikuya brings his fingertips to his own lips, tracing the warmth that isn't there but is given instead to someone else. Natsuya watches him drenched with longing, even if his actions are ruthless. Up until the girl forcefully deepens the kiss, and for Ikuya, the teasing turns to punishment. Natsuya's eyes widen, everyone bursts into cheers, and, within this frenzy, the teal-haired student defeatedly excuses himself. When Natsuya finally disentangles his face from the liplock, his brother has already fled the scene and not even Hiyori has rushed on his trail.

The cold night steals the meagre heat faster than the body can replace it. Below the wide balcony, the glittering lights of Tokyo are obscured in white. The wind has died down, leaving Natsuya wrapped in the prison of his mind. Pictures of a bashful cherub, with amaranth cheeks and impressionable eyes, sneak out of his memory's portmanteau. He is quailing behind Natsuya's back in the presence of others, he is scampering along his brother when they are alone. Now the little boy is bulkier, has a tight circle of friends and a goal of his own. Where was Natsuya slackening while life marched on? What plane was he embarking, for which continent? All these years he had weighed his options, the balance convincing him he didn't have many. In his attempt to stand as the leader of the family and a dependable brother, his heart had betrayed him, craving to become someone else. Hence, he let Ikuya be the pillar of their home. He left. And in those travels, he slept with people of different backgrounds, trying to scratch Ikuya's presence out. He offered guidance to various swimmers, trying to fuel his big brother complex. Occasionally, like last June, his resolve would quiver. But he had sealed a pact with himself; never to cave in. What was he aiming at tonight with that kiss, he doesn't know. Whether he wished to seduce Ikuya, or discipline him for maturing up, he cannot tell. Both paths seem equally unfruitful and petty. Above the frozen Tokyo, Natsuya bursts into a pitiful laughter.

“Aniki...”

The brunet jerks around. Ikuya, anguished and coatless, hesitantly treads his way.

“Iku-kun...What are you doing out here? It's freezing.”

The youth keeps his gaze lowered, lost between the wooden deck and the tips of his brogues.

“...it was on a cold night like this when they danced together...”

“I don't understand. Who danced together?”

“...everything she ever did was so he would stay...”

“What are you mumbling about? Wait...are you drunk?”

“Drunk...” Ikuya shakes his head and, finally, lifts up his face, his eyes two pools sprinkled with stars that rival the city lights. “I am not drunk! I mean, maybe I am tipsy, maybe without a single drop of vodka I would have chickened out, but aniki...” he clutches a fistful of Natsuya's leather jacket, “...will you stay? I can forget what happened, I'll never mention anything again, just...please...”

After a long pause, Ikuya feels his brother's hands resting on his shoulders. Gently pushing him back, they break their contact and keep him at arm's length.

“Iku-kun, listen, let's discuss this another time. You'd better get inside because you'll catch a-”

Natsuya's hands are abruptly slapped away, as his brother yanks himself backwards.

“Nevermind.”

The young swimmer spins on his heel, but after two wobbling steps, a stab in the stomach bends him in two. Natsuya catches him at once, his brawny arms securing him steady. He caresses the side of Ikuya's cheek, its anemic colour steeping him in worry.

“Ikuya! Are you ok? Here, hold onto me. Have you eaten anything today?”

“Some...corn flakes.”

“So, you've been drinking alcohol on an empty stomach? Fuck. That's it, we're leaving.”

Natsuya takes off his fur lined leather jacket and swathes his brother's cold body. Next to the patio door, Nao is standing equally alarmed, having witnessed the vulnerable scene and Natsuya gestures at him to bring the rest coats. They are heading home.

It is a ride soaked in silence. Only Nao occasionally comments about the sleet on the roads while he drives, and how dangerous it can be. Still clad in his brother's scent, Ikuya rests his head against the window. The passing neon lights liquefy into a rainbow and he follows it, as it ebbs away above the snow. Back in his apartment, Natsuya fetches him water and Nao gives him some pretzels he snatched from the party the last minute. They both insist on helping him feel better, but he dismisses them, favouring instead some much needed sleep. It's almost two in the morning when they conclude that Ikuya has exhausted himself enough to wake up anytime soon, and Natsuya reassures Nao he can return home.

At the doorstep, the silver-haired man dithers.

“Maybe I should stay around too. It will be safer.”

“We'll be fine, Nao. I promise not to drink or anything.”

He calmly nods, yet he doesn't budge an inch from blocking the door. Natsuya's smile fades.

“I will not drink.”

Nao holds his friend's gaze for a bit longer, and then retreats. He encourages the brunet not to stay up and get some rest himself, as a last token of advice before the dawn.

In the lounge, Natsuya sinks in the cushions of the sofa like lead. From the large inner pouch of Ikuya's parka, he removes a bottle of Beluga Noble and places it on the coffee table. He isn't sure how he managed to slip it under Nao's nose, but he did. His gaze oscillates between the vodka and the wall clock in a steady pace. Each second ticking away is a dive down the memory lane and a tightening of the noose around his neck.

In his dream, Ikuya is chasing a gossamer gown in a misty woodland. It billows and ripples in the air, and everytime he's about to grab it, it changes course. The skin on his hands is red and flayed, the tangy taste of blood nesting in his mouth. In the middle of a clearing, he finds his brother. He is standing barefoot on shards of glass, countless colourful tanzaku are strewn around him. Ikuya longs to touch him. He extends his arm.

The sudden tingle on his chin, stirs Ikuya awake. In the dimness of his bedroom, he discerns his brother's outline. Immediately sitting up, he switches on a small, portable lamp on his nightstand. At the foot of the narrow bed, Natsuya looks like a kid who has just touched a cookie forbidden.

“Aniki?”

“How are you feeling?”

“I'm ok. Whatever it was, it passed, but...”

Ikuya takes in his brother's state; the bloodshot eyes, the hunched shoulders. A familiar whiff of oak puddles between them.

“...are you drunk?”

Natsuya bitterly chuckles.

“Not enough to spare me the guilt tomorrow.”

The lull that follows is unnerving, it makes Ikuya's heart thunder. He cautiously wriggles out of his duvet, the movement exposing a pair of mulberry boxer briefs that trail down to the smooth legs of a swimmer. Natsuya recognizes his old tigershark shirt and his gaze drifts away.

“I thought I was strong...I thought I could battle this...” Voice low and hoarse, words whose ends evaporate, “...but I'm not and I can't. And, somehow, I'm bringing you down with me.” His Adam's apple bobs up and down, before he faces his little brother once more. “Kick me out, Ikuya. Kick me out, for I can't find the guts to do it myself. And if I stay, I don't trust me.”

“No, no...” Ikuya vehemently shakes his head. “You don't get it. Aniki, I am the same. I have always been. You never made me do anything I didn't want to. I've been waiting for you to see what for me has always been so clear.”

He delves in for Natsuya and the brunet instinctively pulls away from the grasp, his lungs suddenly inflated with stagnant air.

“If you touch me now...”

But, this time, Ikuya ignores him. He propels himself forward and, unlike in his dream, he reaches him.

It isn't a kiss. It doesn't count as a peck. It's the feathery, evanescent touch of a dandelion, before it scatters carrying his wish. Ikuya's lips are almost stilled against his brother's, and it's their mingled breaths that grant the motion. Natsuya's skin is an amalgam of alcohol and dry tears, and Ikuya swipes its salted taste. Eventually, he leans back, certain of his actions, anxious of the response.

A second later, he has his answer. Natsuya slams his mouth to his and every thought gets obliterated . Years of hunger ravage through, as Natsuya's tongue presses hard against his seam, gaining access before Ikuya's mind can grant it. It's raunchy. It's messy. It's dripping saliva all over, a chaos of tongues, lips and bites. Natsuya yanks him onto his lap and, as if on autopilot, Ikuya flattens his chest on him and winds his legs around his waist. Grabbing his head with both hands, he rakes long fingers through ruffled, mocha hair and urges Natsuya to open his mouth even more, as if to devour him whole. For the first time since forever, their minds are linked together and locked not to the past or future, but the present.

They break away only when their lips finally feel numb. Their foreheads form an arch and Natsuya chuckles, still unable to believe this unhoped-for development. But Ikuya is deadly serious. His chest is heaving, tension steams out of his nostrils and any interruption feels like a rude slap.

“Iku-kun...isn't this going a bit fast?”

“No.”

It's probably the faster disagreement Ikuya has ever spelled. He demandingly re-captures Natsuya's lips, but the brunet subdues him again.

“Have you...before?”

Under the feeble lamp light, Ikuya's face darkens.

“In the school's toilets. With anyone who looked like you.”

Natsuya nods the shock away. Dipping closer to his ear, he glues their cheeks together and lets his tongue lap a wide, provocative path from Ikuya's jawline up to his temple.

“We'll see about that.”

Shoving a hand between them, he cups Ikuya above his underwear. The young student gasps; for a moment, he forgot that the mouth isn't the only source of pleasure. Ηe begins grinding against his brother's palm. When the fabric becomes too wet and sticky, Natsuya slides off the bed. He instructs Ikuya to sit on the edge and helps him throw his boxer briefs away. The youngster's uncut dick emerges from a sleek forest and tilts to the side, already heavy and beautiful as Natsuya remembers it.

Ikuya watches stunned, as the brunet spreads his legs and kneels between them. Natsuya's hands roam on his thighs, squeezing the junction of toughened muscles. A skillful tongue follows the paths the fingers chart, leaving wet swirls all the way to Ikuya's crotch. When Natsuya envelops his throbbing member, Ikuya's eyes widen at the hot moisture and he has to muzzle himself with the back of his hand. His brother's mouth is like a vacuum. Without halting his pace, the brunet lifts his gaze up and Ikuya almost dies both from the obscene sight and his embarrassement. A chain of moans crashes against his hand and his toes curl on the floor. But as soon as his hips begin rising from the mattress, building his climax up, Natsuya withdraws.

“Not yet.”

Standing up, he looms over his brother like a pine and there's a moment Ikuya seems disorientated, until he takes the hint. Eager fingers tremble on the belt buckle and as the zip rolls down, it unveils a secret Ikuya knew since their adolescent years, when the waistband of his underwear would get loose, while his brother's remained brand new; Natsuya endorses the commando-style. When the brunet pulls his shirt over his head, Ikuya swallows before the ample range of lightly tanned skin. From his angle, Natsuya's pecs rise and fall in a lulling rhythm. To his dismay, his brother stops him when he tries to return the previous favour.

“Just lick the head. You're too beautiful to see you messed.”

Ikuya does as commanded, velvet tongue gently twirling around the sensitive flesh. It doesn't take long for Natsuya to mutter a curse under his breath and lead them back on the bed. Ikuya straddles his thighs once more, this time their bare skins scorch one another. He reaches for the hem of the tigershark shirt, but Natsuya drags his hand away. This last barrier from his childhood arouses the sinner in him.

They revert to kissing, sensually now, braiding tongues and feelings. Natsuya wraps his hand around their erect shafts and staples them together. They twitch and writhe under his strong grip, causing Ikuya to shudder.

“What did they do to you in those toilets?”

Ikuya chokes. That raspy voice and prurient words douse his cheeks in a crimson deeper than the heat can manage. He feels a tug on his right hand, suddenly being guided to his rocking rear. Slowly, Natsuya drives his brother's fingertips in tender circles on his anus rim.

“Tell me what they did.”

“They...made me...”

Pants break the line of thought. Natsuya just pumps their cocks harder.

“Made you?”

“Suck them...they made me suck them...”

The brunet eases Ikuya's middle finger in, and joins him with two of his own. They work like scissors, rubbing and stretching his inner walls.

“And what else?”

“Fi-fingered me.”

Natsuya nudges them further in, until their tips probe the prostate.

“Like this?”

Burning up, Ikuya lolls his head from side to side.

“Nothing...nothing compares to this...oh, God...”

Natsuya speeds up his strokes along their connected members, sentecing both Ikuya and himself to a place godless. The youngster cries and claws on his brother's back, until his eyes flutter shut. Behind his lids, the light explodes.

When Ikuya lands back to earth, their abdomens are a milky, blotched mess caused by his own semen. He nervously swivels, searching for something to wipe them with, but, unperturbed, Natsuya seizes his lips and shoves him flat down. He nuzzles the boy's creamy neck, leaving his mark on the pulsating veins, and Ikuya clasps him. He just clasps him as tightly as he can, in case this happiness aspires to flee. Inch by inch, Natsuya turns him around and splays him under his body. Rolling up Ikuya's shirt, he trails sloppy kisses on his lower back, fondling each crevasse and line. When he decides that he has teased his brother and tortured himself enough, Natsuya straightens his back and spits. Picking up his cue, the young swimmer raises his pelvis and, soon, feels the edge of a rod rock-hard poking at his entrance. It stings, jolts of pain ramify around his perineum, and even though his brother pushes gently, Ikuya's eyes still well up. The discomfort lasts for a few seconds more, until the sound of a light pop. After that, it's a mere dive on a wet slide.

Deep inside the youth, Natsuya loses himsef. His hips gyrate slowly, drawn out, circular motions let the moisture soak him. Beneath him, Ikuya's body is all tensed up and the brunet kneads his nape, treating him like a kitten. Eventually, his movements become hard thrusts, each one coaxing shivers and grunts out of Ikuya. He plants kisses on his mint hair, the tittle of skin peeping out of his clothed shoulder, the inside of his elbows. Everywhere he can reach while he pistons in and out. And all the while Ikuya's walls contract around him, juicing both his cock and soul like no one else has done before.

That's when Natsuya sees them.

They are smiling at him. Two glowing faces penetrate him with innocence, as a young woman beams in warmth and, beside her, a brown-haired toddler rests his small head on her baby bump. Happy moments immortalized in time and framed on Ikuya's nightstand.

Natsuya's pace falters. He squeezes his eyes away, but the photograph hauls him like a magnet. No matter how much it rips him apart, it's impossible not to look at. His heart rate becomes uneven, his shoves turn amateurish and painful. There's so much judgment in those stares, it makes his body squirm and his brain descend to darkness.

It's from that same darkness that a hand emerges and forces the framed picture down. Ikuya cranes his neck over his shoulder, the edges of his lips seeking Natsuya's face.

“No, stay with me.”

Their kiss placates the Furies. It's comforting in a way that words will never be. Natsuya pulls them both up, twisting teal strands in his fist and angling Ikuya backwards. He quickens his thrusts and the youth clenches the squeaking headboard of his bed for support. He looks down on his semi-hard penis, it bounces around while his brother pillages his insides. Their bodies fit perfectly together, once upon a time a mould that broke in two. As Natsuya nears the edge, the only sounds around are Ikuya's high-pitched moans and the rapid-fire slapping of sweaty bodies. For this last moment, they just fuck.

And, then, it ends. Ikuya is abruptly thrown on his pillow; something hot trickles down his lower back, something barren settles between his limbs. A few seconds later, Natsuya collapses on top of him. He presses his forehead on the damp tigershark shirt and lets his abdomen smear the seed and sweat between them.

"I love you", Ikuya whispers. Or perhaps he thought it, he can't be sure. The joint pounding of their hearts is too loud for him to hear anything.

As the night weaves its final hours, the ashen clouds slightly stand aside, ceding to the chilled moonlight beams. Snuggled against Natsuya's broad back, Ikuya is surrendered to a peaceful sleep, probably the first one in months. Before the young man, Natsuya rests on his side, an arm folded under his head, his eyes open wide. Two young faces are drawn on the winter's moon, and they keep staring back at him with frozen smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tanzaku: The colourful strips of paper used to write wishes on during the Tanabata festival  
> Regarding Natsuya's outfit in the party, because "leopard print" may bring a lot of outrageous clothes in mind, I was mostly thinking something like this: i.imgur.com/m6lILhz.jpg


	5. .5.

 

* * *

 

 

**.5.**

 

In the days leading up to Christmas, Natsuya vanishes. He doesn't answer his phone and Ikuya's texts are never marked as 'read'. Their parents do not receive a call either. At first, Ikuya remains hopeful. It isn't unlikely for his brother to disappear and then sprout up when and where least expected. But, as time elapses, the feeling of waiting for a sign on burning coals exacerbates. For a while, Ikuya conquers his urge to contact Nao. The scenarios floating in his head are not promising. If Nao knows of his brother's whereabouts, then he's also aware that Natsuya maintains his distance; Ikuya will never manage to pry anything out of him. If Nao is in the dark as much as Ikuya is, then the young swimmer runs the risk of his secrets coming to light; with Natsuya always being a nomad, a sudden worry over his brief departure is, at least, suspicious.

When Ikuya discovers a woolen, black and yellow striped scarf, on the floor behind the laundry basket, he finds the necessary excuse to visit Nao. Thus, one wintry morning, Ikuya is standing at Nao's threshold, seeking to hand Natsuya his favourite accessory back, and feigning surprise when the silver-haired man shakes his head , admitting he hasn't seen the former captain in days. Apart from a small duffel bag, his belongings still lie in the hallway intact. However, Nao appears unruffled, positive that the brunet is distracted by yet another short trip or new playmate. He invites Ikuya to join him for a cup of tea, but the youth turns the offer down, making it known that he leaves for Iwatobi the following day and there are still things to pack. Besides, unless Natsuya is hiding inside the closet, Ikuya has no reason to prolong his stay.

“Your brother told me about your studying and training in England.” Nao dawdles at his doorstep. “Congratulations, a whole new chapter will begin for you.”

“It's only for a short while.”

“Ikuya.” A brisk gust of wind carries his voice softer than it actually is. “Don't lose focus. Whatever happens, make that trip and live that life.”

The youngster masks his awkwardness beneath a smile. Nao's percipience has always made him nervous.

"Please, give your mother my regards. Tell her I miss her delicious spicy tofu ramen."

"I will, thanks. Have a nice day."

"Oh, and Ikuya..."

Ikuya pauses. Nao's extended hand lingers between them. His features are suddenly etched with something stern and resolute.

"The scarf."

Ikuya's eyes alternate between the open palm before him and the neckwear dangling from his hand. Instinctively, he clasps it harder.

"It's ok, I will give it to him. I'm sure it won't be long before we see each other."

Nao's fingers curl back almost reluctantly. In contrast, his head tilts to the side as usual, the corners of his eyes wrinkle.

"Of course."

The moment Ikuya is out of his senior's sight, he exhales his uneasiness. As much as Natsuya's behaviour pains him, there isn't a single doubt in his mind that his feelings reflect his own. The night they spent together, he cherishes it, and he's determined to pursue its repeat.

In the early morning hours, the soft tinkling of wind chimes echoes in an empty bar as the door slides open. The bartender routinely sweeping the floor briefly speaks with the man walking in, and then points towards the lonely figure at the bar counter. Slumped over its copper surface, Natsuya is the ill-fated character of a film noir. Chapped lips hang slightly parted, shattered eyes peer into nothing in particular. Next to him, a glass and an almost empty bottle of cheap vodka complete the scene of misery. The man sits on a stool beside him and places a hand on Natsuya's shoulder, squeezing it with sympathy. For a good while, they stay like that.

"It took you long, old pal."

Nao takes a second glass from the clean row on the countertop and pours in the remaining liquor. Its harsh, solvent-like taste sends numbing tendrils around his mouth.

"Well, you made it quite hard, I've got to give it to you. Normally you seek comfort in my bedroom, this time I've probably met every hostel owner in downtown Tokyo. By the way...the boy came to see me."

It's the first time the hollow shell by his side reacts with a motion. Sunken eyes drift to Nao, watching him as he gulps another strong sip.

"He's leaving for Iwatobi in a few hours. He was holding your scarf."

Strenuously, Natsuya lifts his rigid body off the counter. For a minute, he just stares at his bare hands.

“It's over, Nao. This time, it really is.”

"You know, when people resort to alcohol, they usually do it for two reasons. The one is to socialize, like...get some fun with friends or even try to conform...to fit in. The other is to cope. Everywhere, from the richest uptown condo to the last hole in the wall, alcohol smacks people's brains around and makes their feelings more pleasant. They get drunk to deal more easily with their problems. Or not to deal with them. To avoid them, to forget...But, not you."

Natsuya meets his friend's face. Beneath an arched eyebrow, a lime gaze calmly deconstructs him.

"It doesn't work that way with you, does it? You have no remorse. Were you given the chance, you'd still bear the same feelings. And lead yourself down the same path. For you, drinking isn't about avoidance...it's about punishment. You're out here punishing yourself."

Natsuya's sigh is a scoff at himself, a sarcasm that leaves him with more melancholy than relief. He raises his empty glass and clinks it against Nao's.

"Cheers."

Nao observes him for a minute and then draws an envelope out of his camel coat. He places it on the counter and pushes it to Natsuya's side. Under merged brows, the brunet doesn't hide his wariness. As soon as he opens it, he bitterly chuckles.

"You're sending me away?"

"I'm buying us time." Nao corrects him. "There are two of them inside."

Two days to Christmas, Hiyori's doorbell rings. With his hair still dripping wet after showering, he opens the door with caution, yet unprepared for the hurricane that ensues. A bubblegum blur storms past him, followed by an ecstatic Asahi who simply announces they came for Ikuya, before yelling after his friend. Behind them, Makoto arrays a string of apologies, and walks in before Hiyori manages to spell a word. Haruka just stands in the cold corridor.

"Aren't you coming in?" The Shimogami student looks at him frabbergasted at this point.

"They told me it would take only five minutes."

Fortunately, Makoto reels back and pulls the misfit inside. The moment Hiyori shuts the door behind the irksome convoy, Kisumi whizzes into his personal space.

"Hey there, Specs. We're looking for a brooding muffin. He's average in height, but great in everything else, including ignoring his phone."

"Why would he be here?" Hiyori circumvents him and his inquisitive face.

"Because he isn't anywhere else."

"Kisumi, he's right." Asahi has finished snooping around the rooms. "Ikuya isn't here."

"The nerve you people have. He left for Iwatobi this morning, I thought you knew."

The boys exchange glances disappointed.

"Isn't this what you guys do for holidays, return to the fishing village? Why are you all still in Tokyo?"

"My parents and siblings decided to spend Christmas in the capital. We'll be visiting the Disney resort." The mere thought of the extravagant theme park gladdens the child in Makoto.

"And you can probably guess this means Kisumi isn't moving his bum either. Haru and I are catching the last train tonight."

"Christmas found her amidst an ocean of flourished hellebore..." Above an indigo book, Kisumi is emphasizing the words one by one.

"Hey! Put that back."

"I didn't know you liked fairy tales."

"It's Ikuya's, not mine. He likes reading its stories and identifying with the characters, somehow he convinced himself he's the same as the nymph protagonist in one of them." Hiyori notices the wreath of puzzled looks around him and clears his throat. "Anyway, he stopped by before leaving and forgot a bag with books."

"We can hand them back to him since we're heading there."

"That won't be necessary." Hiyori's smirk discards Asahi's suggestion. "I've already asked him if I should mail them, but he said he'll pick them up himself when he returns."

"Come to think of it...", Kisumi ponders at the ceiling "...he had mentioned he was thinking of going back earlier than you two."

"Huh? Kisumi asshole, if you knew this, why the hell did you drag us here?!"

"Sorry Asahi...", the rosehead slips away from his friend's impending headlock. "I just needed to confirm something. Lately, Ikuya has been more agitated than before. You must have noticed, didn't you?"

Foxy eyes stemming guile settle upon Hiyori. He, also, has detected a minor change in Ikuya's demeanor. Ever since the fateful party, the lonesome youngster behaves as if a notion is constantly gnawing the back of his mind. Hiyori isn't willing to discuss it with a bunch of oddballs though. Especially since Ikuya has been a padlocked clam, leaving the bifocaled man completely in the dark.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to. Ikuya hasn't told me anything worrisome."

"Poor Ikuya, if he's in some kind of trouble, we should all help him. Although he didn't seem any different to me."

"Makoto's right, that's how he usually is", Asahi shrugs. "He's probably in one of his emo days."

"The five minutes are up."

"Haru..."

"What? He said-"

"I did, didn't I?" Kisumi rubs the back of his head laughing, and leaves the book on a nearby desk. "Let's go then! Nothing else to do here, plus my mouth craves a cup of hot chocolate with all of you before you leave tonight. Merry Christmas, Specs!"

"Hey, don't just decide things on your own!"

"Don't you want to share some hot chocolate with me, Asahi? I'm genuinely hurt."

Makoto watches them harmlessly bickering as they step outside and shakes his head.

"Would you like to join us, Toono-kun?"

"No, thanks. I think I got my daily dose of you. Have a Merry Christmas."

Hiyori is about to swing the door shut, but someone is stubbornly obstructing it. Haru's azure pools are piercing through him. An endless field of cornflower, the type of gaze that leaves people either stupefied or nervous. Hiyori belongs to the latter.

"Did you forget anything?"

"I don't think Ikuya is the same as the nymph."

"Excuse me?"

"The heroine of that fairy tale. Ikuya and she don't have much in common."

"You've read this book too?"

"My grandmother owned a copy, she used to collect old books. After her death, my mother donated it to my school's library because I never really liked it. The rivers and lakes in that story were always frozen."

Hiyori isn't sure how to respond to the raven-haired swimmer's sudden epiphany and, thankfully, Makoto is there to gently take his friend by the elbow, while mouthing a silent "sorry" at his fellow backstroker. Hiyori continues to hear the cheerful blather of the fellowship bestirring the street, and he's glad they left before they triggered his migraine. Passing by his desk, the indigo book catches his attention. It is still open at the passage Kisumi was randomly quoting. Pixieish words begin dancing on his lenses.

_Christmas found her amidst an ocean of flourished hellebore. Perched in the middle of the cottage's yard, she was finally home. A grown up man was resting his head in her doting lap. A creek of blood streamed down his jaw, and wherever the poison had spread, his skin was red and flayed. However, Death hadn't claimed him; he was merely sleeping. The flower had left him spellbound, forever ensnared by the love of a nature spirit. A dryad unlike all other beings, a migratory bird destined to recur, a moth that could never be free and always fluttered its wings circling the same blinding light._

"A migratory bird..." Hiyori stops reading and puts the book aside. He removes his glasses, his fingers massaging the bridge of his nose. Lately, he has been far too busy and stressed with training, to make any room now for the preposterous theory that suddenly materialized at the gates of his mind.

Christmas dawns like an avalanche of glistening ornaments, hopeful faces and family warmth. The blizzard of the past days has dissipated, allowing the snow to simmer down on rooftops and sidewalks. Ikuya snuggles up in the comfort of his bed, occasionally stirred by the jubilant voices of children sleigh-riding down the neighbourhood. At dinner time, he luxuriates in his mother's chicken nanban, followed by sponge cake garnished with whipped cream and strawberries. He briefly exchanges greetings with Asahi on phone and spends the rest of his day shooting Santa's helpers on his game console. It's late at night when the balmy notes of mellow Holidays blues cajole him into going downstairs. Always the old Christmas songs enthusiast, his mother has usually fallen asleep by that time. Instead, he finds her standing before their christmas tree, a handkerchief in hand, Belafonte on the CD player. At the base of the tree, next to the torn wrapping paper and the undone ribbons, one present remains sealed. On top of it, a woolen, black and yellow scarf lies like a halo.

On the wall pendulum, the minute hand shows twenty past midnight. Christmas has passed.

Ikuya steps behind his mother and wraps his arms around her small frame. Stooping lower, he rests his chin on her shoulder and lets his gaze maunder on the fairy lights.

"Don't worry, there's still the New Year's. Eventually, he'll come home. I know he will."

 

 

* * *

 

_Late December, somewhere in Central Europe._

 

With its cobbled alleys, medieval arcades and quaint store fronts, the small town is a legacy left from the past. The dreary daylight is heckled by intermissions of blonde, engulfing the setting with a playful touch. In one of its larger streets, among passers-by and shoppers, Natsuya and Nao are strolling away the last day of their trip. A group of Caucasian girls walks past them, babbling and beaming at the sight of the silver-haired man.

"Seriously, so much female attention gone wasted."

"Perhaps it's time for the pan to learn something from the gay."

"As if", Natsuya sneers. "I bet it's your fashion style that draws all the glances."

"What's wrong with my style?" Nao looks down at his ribbed wool-blend turtleneck, bell bottom pants and military greatcoat, all in different shades of grey.

"Has no one ever told you that you look like a damn time traveller? You actually fit with this scenery."

"Which is an amazing one."

The brunet responds with a funny noise, causing wrinkles on Nao's forehead.

"Come on, you were thrilled with the view the moment you stepped down the wagon."

"I still am. It's a wonderful place. But, I've got to say it Nao, this trip with you has been the most uneventful one I ever had."

"You mean a trip where you actually visited museums for once, ate proper food instead of junk and didn't bring to your room a different stranger every night."

"And kept going for sleep by ten, took photos on every romantic little bridge among couples, and spent a whole afternoun inside the local library. However, I'm thankful."

"Good to know", Nao smiles, looking ahead. "Because next time I'll just leave you to spend the last days of the year ruining your liver. So, where you'd rather head-"

He slows down his gait, realising that Natsuya has stopped several meters behind. The brunet is standing transfixed in front of the small vitrine of a local toy store. The place is a magical tartan of timbre, colours and tales. Vibrant kites and beechwood carved into animals, traditional dolls dressed in velvet and taffeta, suspended zeppelins and mechanical birds, boards with inlaid scenes from children's books and various other wonders, all compose a funfaire with an eerie tinge.

"Excuse me one second."

He blurts out and vanishes behind the old, oaken door. Nao trails his gaze to the store's hanging sign. A thatched-roof cottage with a lantern post are chiseled on its rusty metal. A few minutes later, the eldest Kirishima comes out holding a clear plastic gift box, topped with a lilac bow. Inside it, there's a glass sphere enclosing a ceramic, five-petal, bowl-shaped flower that glistens white, complete with a lush foliage and particles of gold foil for snow.

"A snowglobe?" Nao stares at his friend in disbelief, before trying to read the shiny plaque on the globe's base. "Her-herrebore? I'm not sure how to pronounce it."

"It's Hellebore."

"Alright. And from all the beautiful artifacts and souvenirs you could buy, why did you choose this toy?"

"Honestly, I...I don't know...I just saw it in the vitrine, and this idea popped in my mind, that..." Natsuya lights up, wavy strands of walnut crowning the twinkling summer wine in his eyes, "...Ikuya would like it."

 

_One legend says that Hellebore grew from the tears a shepherdess shed on snowy ground,_

_because she bore no gift for baby Christ._

_Known for its toxicity and used in medicine since the ancient times,_

_other myths associated it with witchcraft, and the summoning of demons._

 

**The End**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one more very short scene which, initially, was a part of the earlier chapters, but I decided to add it as a stand-alone scene in a 6th page (click next chapter). The story ends here though, it is complete and can be read without the bonus scene, I just figured it would be cool to shed some light on that tiny piece missing from the puzzle. Thanks for reading, reviews are appreciated.


	6. Bonus Scene

**Bonus Scene**

 

The moment he hears the sound of glass smashing against the floor, Ikuya rushes downstairs. It's the last night of June and everything pleasant in Iwatobi has ebbed away with the heat. He finds his brother in the middle of their kitchen. A beer bottle is shattered below his feet, another one dangles empty in his grasp.

"Mom is sleeping upstairs. You'll wake her up."

Natsuya snickers, until he realises he's being loud. He places an index finger on his pursed lips, gesturing at Ikuya they have to shush, before he reverts to snickering. He reeks of alcohol, an indication those two bottles are the mere finale of a wild ride. 

"Aniki, are you ok?"

"Peachy as always."

"Just forget it and get some sleep."

"Like the way _you_ forget it?" Natsuya points to the dozen of colourful paper strips that are arranged on the table. "How much tanzaku do you need for a wish that will never come true?"

Ikuya's downcast eyes tell Natsuya what he already knows. It's the drunken haze that urges him to press on.

"Aren't you tired of hanging the same wish every damn year? He'll never come back. She shouldn't have let him leave in the first place!"

"Please, stop." Ikuya's plea is barely above a whisper.

"Except if...this isn't your only wish."

The brunet steps out of the shards and into his brother's personal space. He trails a hand from the youngster's lower abdomen, all the way to his toned chest.

"You have been yearning for something else too, haven't you? Your heart is hammering." He guides Ikuya's hand to his lemon muscle shirt and places it above his own heart. "Funny thing, mine too."

An invisible force has driven all coherent thought from Ikuya's brain and cured it in brine. Natsuya has leaned so close, that the young swimmer inhales his brother's intoxicated breath and feels his body lightly brushing against his own.

"Wanna test it? See if your Tanabata wish can come true?"

All that Ikuya manages to do is swallow. Natsuya dips in, teasingly swaying his lips against his brother's. He tugs at his bottom lip and lets the tip of his tongue sweep the boy's bashfulness. He softly sucks on the velvet flesh and, before Ikuya registers how to respond, his face drifts away and his forehead falls on Ikuya's shoulder.

"Not tonight, Iku-kun."

Ikuya remains glued to the spot, watching bewildered as his brother slouches towards the staircase, monotonously mumbling his new mantra. Not tonight.

Natsuya spends the next morning locked in his room. One day later, when Ikuya returns from his running session, their mother informs him that the former captain has already left for the international airport in Kansai. When she heads off to work, Ikuya explodes. Blaming himself, he kicks off his swivel chair, punches his pillows and brings down his entire bookcase. There, amidst scattered books and magazines, he discovers an indigo book he hasn't read in years. It bears golden engravings on its front and beautiful, white flowers on the back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading.


End file.
